Inching Closer
by Lenina Crowne
Summary: LL. 'She smiles when she realizes that, unlike the others, he’s not merely a hologram in her mind. No, unlike the others, he’s there, with her, body, soul, beautiful blue baseball cap, and all.' Lorelai deals with the aftermath of the S5 finale.
1. Chapter One

**Inching Closer**

_Chapter One_

**Disclaimer: **_These characters belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the good people over at WB. I've merely kidnapped them, for the time being. What? It's hiatus; no one else is using them!_

**A/N: **_Okay, posting this series is nerve-wracking because I have been working really hard on ironing the kinks out of this series. Then, it took a lot of effort to actually bring myself to the point where I felt confident enough to begin to post. Honestly, I don't think I'm actually at that point yet, but I'm sick of waiting. Currently, this series is yet another post-season 5 finale piece. The difference? I believe it's heavier on the angst than anything I've read so far… but that could just be my perception. I've never had much luck writing angst; people tend to believe I should stick with the sappy humor. However, I've been itching to deal with the conflicts that ASP has slyly (or not so slyly, depending on your level of confidence in her) bypassed this past season. In other words, this is a series coming from a viewer who is wholly frustrated with the way things have been going this season, and would like to try to rectify that. If this is too cliché, I give you permission to throw rocks and small tools at me. Thanks to**  
JenniGellerBing** for the beta. Eeep, I love that I'm slowly bringing you to the Gilmore-side of the fandom world!_

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**I.**  
She can only hold onto fragments of thoughts as she listens to Luke rant. She sees Rory's face flash before her eyes, first as a baby, and then as an unrecognizable woman, simultaneously hurting and furious about it. Yet, that picture flicks and fades away, only to be replaced by her parents, a black-and-white image that she remembers having glimpsed at briefly once or twice in the past. They are young in this picture, taken a year or two before Lorelai was born, and they are merely looking into each other's eyes. No smiles, no warmth, not even a glimmer of recognition. She sees them this time in her mind, only they're not looking at each other. Instead, they are looking at Lorelai and yet, at the same time, they don't really see her. She quivers under their unwavering gazes, forcing herself away from the scorn as she brings herself back to reality.

All she can see now is Luke. His face is turning redder with each shuddering breath he takes, pacing slightly as his plan becomes increasingly, impossibly elaborate. She smiles when she realizes that, unlike the others, he's not merely a hologram in Lorelai's mind. No, unlike the others, he's _there_, with her; body, soul, beautiful blue baseball cap, and all. Suddenly, she feels a rush of emotion, unidentifiable, but not at all unwelcome as Lorelai baths in its newness. She knows that, whatever this feeling is, it is bigger than her unexpressed, but wholly felt love toward this man. It is something more – like an acceptance of some sort; an acceptance of his presence, weaved tightly within every grain of her being.

"What?" he demands.

And so, she ignores the wagging finger in her mind, the faceless voice (sounding suspiciously like her mother's) that warns, _You're not thinking, Lorelai; you never think!_ In retaliation, she says it, "Luke, will you marry me?" The words leave her mouth like all the others – hurried, impulsive, and, to the untrained ear, utterly ridiculous. This is, without a doubt, the mother of all non-sequiturs, even for Lorelai's standards. And yet, as always, the thought-process behind these words has been churning in her mind for days, distracting her from her activities by day and haunting her dreams at night. With the short-lived, but intense panic at the possibility of pregnancy, Lorelai had begun to really think of what a future with Luke would entail - a future of bright promises and new beginnings; Lorelai's first _forever_. The last word echoes in the unbearably silent diner, reverberating off the walls of her rapidly swimming mind.

"What?" he finally manages. His voice is soft this time, lacking that usual edge that accompanies Luke's every word – a tone, she presumes, he has picked up after years of unabashed defensiveness, a mechanism against the world that has more often than not left wounds so deep he is unsure they will ever heal.

For an obscenely immeasurable amount of time they stare at each other, blue eyes gleaming under the yellow glow of the unnatural streetlights. Their gazes speak the impossibly blunt words of their innermost fears, and Lorelai wants to look away, cry out against the obvious doubt she sees etched within his features. But she is silent, and unnaturally so, because speech seems utterly inappropriate during this unusually intimate moment. The silence, coupled with the weight of Lorelai's earlier question, creates a tension so thick, so palpable, that she struggles not to choke on the tainted air as it fills her lungs. Instead, she focuses on the familiar diner smells – burnt oil, stale coffee, and, above all else, that impossibly rugged scent which, in her mind, only signifies one thing – Luke.

Slowly, Lorelai's body fills with an impatience that she does not mindly recognize, and so she fiddles with her purple cardigan, momentarily focusing on the last time she has worn this outfit. Or, more specifically, she remembers with a sort of fondness of brighter days, the last time she hadn't worn the dress, when the sweater had instead been impatiently pushed off her shoulders as Luke's large fingers fumbled with the zipper of her dress. _This is not the right thing to focus on,_ she realizes, but she doesn't know what else to think about. All she knows is that she can't take another second of Luke's suddenly haggard features as the gears in his mind go into overdrive.

His hesitation begins to make her nervous. Although they had not officially discussed any plans for the future, she thought he would snatch at the prospect of marriage as soon as she dangled it over his head. After all, he is Luke and Luke has made it obvious time and time again that he would do _anything_ to salvage any sort of relationship with her – be it friendship, romance, or just a sort of casual exchange of niceties. As much as it pained her to admit it, that sort of reasoning was the one platonic aspect of their relationship that she felt she had any nuance of control over. Luke had dictated the rest, the beginning and progression of their relationship, as well as the painful rift that had settled between the two of them for that dark month. That looming cloud always hung over their relationship; he just _couldn't_ say no to her.

Finally, knowing that the allotted time for the expected answer had long since slipped away into the cool spring night, Lorelai wraps her arms around herself. With the absence of _possibility_, she is left feeling only insatiably cold and vulnerable. So, she does what she does best in these types of gut-wrenchingly awkward situations and cracks her infamous Flirty Lorelai Smile. However, Luke still looks stunned. In fact, the usage of The Smile has merely given him the air of one who has, just moments ago, gotten the wind knocked out of him. Propelled by an outright defiance similar to before, she moves closer to him, preparing herself to whisper witty words of distraction into his ear – rile him up to the point of frustration, causing him to forget their situation, at least momentarily. However, her mind is suddenly and unexpectedly wiped clean, leaving behind only remnants of phrases, which, pieced together, form jumbled-up nonsense. With that revelation, The Smile vanishes from her pouting lips and she stops in her tracks, looking much like a incarcerated culprit.

Her heart pounds unmercifully in her chest until she finds herself unable to focus on anything else. The walls around her begin to throb and pulsate, closing in on her as the world spins rapidly out of control. She sees the tables and chairs in front of her, but they quickly become blurs as she feels the dreaded prickling at the corners of her eyes. Her body begins to tremble, and she sinks deeper and deeper into this hell – a world of ruthless defeat. She wants to be angry with all of the people she loves, but the disappointment in herself rears its ugly head instead, cackling as her willpower crumbles into a heap of despair. If only she had not pushed Rory so hard (or, perhaps, pushed her harder?); if only she had not asked her parents for help; if only she had given Luke reason enough to love her baggage as well as her essence… and she's lost in a world of uncharted possibilities, watching as her lost potential floats by, just barely out of reach.

Lorelai lets out a sob – just a single, unanticipated cry for sympathy – and finds herself thrust back into the current world. Luke's features have morphed from shock to genuine concern and, in a flash, she feels his hands grasping hers tightly. Her first instinct is to yank them away, too conflicted to feel connected to him at the moment. But she resists, knowing how deeply she would hurt him if she did that. As she feels his calloused hands against hers, she remembers the feel of coarse stubble against her soft cheek, sweet words dripping in a rough, biting tone. He's an oxymoron, but, more than that, he's a living, breathing paradox of everything she's ever felt. He's a symbol of her innermost conflicts. Love and hatred, as well as success and failure, go hand-in-hand in Lorelai's world. It scares her to see the proof; to love the proof.

"Hey," he says finally, and, as the last semblance of reality clicks into place, she realizes with a hint of astonishment that it has only been a minute or so since the last time he spoke. "Are you okay?"

His thumb rubs gentle circles against her hand and it becomes impossible to concentrate on anything but his rough skin. If he is everything that she is not (hot while she's cold; rough while she's smooth), then how can they be so utterly alike? They both are stubbornly independent when it comes to their own lives, but want, more than anything else, to be a part of each other's lives; and, often, they each feel the unbearable ripples of failure as it wraps its hands around their necks in a classic struggle between life and death.

"Uh-huh," she manages to croak, unsure whether she wants him to stop touching her or to never let go. "You know, about what I said, I mean… it was… I didn't…" She takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts in a desperate attempt to stop tripping over them as they are carelessly strewn about her mind. "I wasn't serious. I mean, marriage?" she asks in an unnaturally high tone. "That's completely bizarre! I mean… isn't it?"

Luke squints, regarding her carefully, with that same guarded look he always gives her, as if he's expecting her to pop out at any second and scream, "Gotcha!" _Maybe he has a point_, she muses fleetingly. She is not exactly the most serious of people. "Okay," he replies slowly, deliberately choosing his words. "It's only bizarre if… you don't really want it. Do you want it?"

His voice carries an accusatory tone, a swift slap in the face. She shudders under his unwavering gaze, focusing her eyes instead on his flannel-clad chest. It did not, however, lessen the presence of the intense look in his eyes. He wants to hear the truth and she has no choice but to give it to him. He'll know if she's lying; his gaze can do that to her – see through her. "Yes, I do."

He nods. "Okay, then."

"Okay then?" She blinks a few times in rapid succession as she stares up at him, dumbly. The air is driven from her lungs in one huge explosion of breath and then she whispers, "That's it? We're getting married?"

"I think so. I mean, you asked, I said yes. We both want it…"

"Yes," she states, even though he had not been asking a question. She knows, somehow, that he wants a confirmation. Or perhaps it is her that wants the confirmation. She can't be sure, with his eyes still fixed on her, intense, unwavering…

This admission fills the diner, breaking the tension up into little ringlets of relief, tinged by anxiety. Lorelai chances a smile in his direction and is relieved to see him return it, even if it is much smaller than her own. They move closer to each other, and Lorelai's heart begins to pound again as his hands find their way to her hips. This position is so familiar, and yet, it seems so foreign. Suddenly, she is no longer standing in the diner, but she is flying along another plane in a whole other dimension, sailing through the air with only Luke's strong arms to ground her; to remind her that this is real, she is here, and he is whole.

It takes every last fiber of being to bring words forth, feels like she's reaching into some crevice laden deep inside her. "Does this mean… I need to buy you a ring?"

Luke shakes his head and then their lips meet. She is sure that nothing has ever felt so surreal before. But it isn't, by any means, the mind-blowing engagement kiss she has forced herself not to expect (yet could not help but imagine, every once in a while). Instead, laced tightly within this embrace are traces of guilt, fear and, above all else, a dwindling sense of self-worth. She isn't sure of anything, can't stop the questions as they flood her mind, driving her farther and farther away from Luke's soft lips against her undoubtedly chapped ones (and the paradox continues!). Tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She knows that, even as he draws her body closer to his, relishing in the warmth and wholeness that he provides, neither can avoid remembering the Independence Inn lobby, bursting at the seams with one thousand yellow daises.

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**A/N: **_Should I continue? The end could go both ways; it's open and yet closed enough. Also, would anyone care to read if I included Rory's and some of Emily's POV, as well, or should I leave it at only Lorelai's and then merely allow Rory and Emily to react to Lorelai/their own situations without giving them their own plots? I have some ideas, but I don't know what the rest of you feel. (But I'd just like you to keep in mind that I'll write it in a way that, if you'd like, you can skip over the non-LL parts and still understand the story.) Your feedback would be greatly appreciated, but try to let me down easy. (Please don't make me cry on my birthday!) I promise I'll never make A/N's this long again._


	2. Chapter Two

Inching Closer

_Chapter Two_

**A/N: **_You know, just when I am overwhelmed by the amount of feedback I receive, you all go and surpass it. Thank you SO much for the guidance! With your help, I have decided that, yes, I will include the other perspectives. However, NO, I will **not **be cutting back on the LL; on the contrary, it will enable me to write more of it. My intent with the usage of these conflicting point-of-views is to bring the characters full circle, leading to an eventual connection (mostly on Lorelai's part). So that means: yes, there will be subplots that are not LL-centric, but, as a whole, I still consider this to be a Java Junkie story (considering the fact that they are the main couple), and, therefore, believe I can continue classifying it as thus. If you disagree, well, bring it up with my lawyer, kay? (And, good luck with that, considering I don't have a lawyer. I do, however, have a banker. I just got him today; exciting!) Okay, well, please review! I am open to any and all suggestions, as well as constructive criticism. Thanks to **Danielle **for the awesome beta and to **JenniGellerBing **'cos I know she wanted to beta, but was too overwhelmed by homework, this time around. P.S. ffnet seems to hate me, so forgive any errors in format.  
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**II.**  
Rory frowns, surveying her new home with her hands on her hips. After staying up until three AM, she has finally finished unpacking all of her belongings. She could have waited, but Rory has never been one to procrastinate the necessary. Besides, unpacking gave her something to focus on, a reason not to let her mind wander to the events of these past few days. Everything she worked for is suddenly trivial; thinking about it makes her realize how lost she really is.

Yet, now she has nothing to focus on, nothing to alleviate the pain but this pool house that, despite the presence of her belongings, still feels nothing like a home. This is the place for outcasts, for those that have been banished from their homes by their loved ones. She feels a wave of sympathy for her grandfather, realizing now just how lonely those months separated from Emily must have made him feel. She almost wishes she could have found her own place to live, somewhere far away from here. Sure, that would not be a home either, but at least it would be away from here, away from these lonely walls, the memories of her unattainable dreams. She had spent so much of her high school career in her grandparents' house; every time she catches a glimpse of it through the window, she remembers the new emptiness inside her. If only she could go back in time and tell her sixteen-year-old self not to bother, not to push herself so hard, then maybe now she would not be suffocating on her failure.

Rory sighs and shakes her head, breaking free from her reverie. Instead, she yanks a random book off the shelf, not bothering to even consider the title, and slowly heads toward her bedroom. _Why should I hurry?_ She questions herself. _What do I have waiting for me?_ She considers all of this with little emotion; she is so tired of caring, has cried too much over these past few days. Things are not going to change, no matter how many tears she sheds. The bedroom is dark as Rory enters, and she leans against the wall for support, searching for the light switch. Without warning, her leg collides with a box and she yelps, hopping on one foot to rub the rapidly-forming bruise on her other leg. She inwardly curses herself for forgetting to lock this box up in her grandparents' basement, afraid of the memories it carries. She opens the box, feeling rather than seeing the material of her Yale clothes and the many _Chilton_ and _Yale_ newspapers – every issue that contains an article written by her. Momentarily, she allows herself to be amazed; she can fit her past inside one bland cardboard box.

Knowing this box is here, knowing exactly what is in it, she cannot turn on the light. If she sees these things, she will have to put them away; she will have to deal with the intense pain that they will bring. She just wants to touch them, experience their magic once more.

Suddenly, her cell phone rings, shattering the silence, causing her to pull her hands out of the box guiltily. Rory turns on the light and heads toward her purse, leaning forward to lift the phone. However, she pauses as it rings in her hand, watching it, mesmerized. She knows who is on the other line; Logan is the only person that would call her at three AM. She does not want to talk to him, does not want to talk to anyone. He will ask how she is and she will have to lie, say she's hanging in there. She does not want to lie. She does not need that on her conscience; there is plenty of guilt laced within her failure as is. So, she lets the phone ring again and again until it falls silent. She holds the power button until the screen blackens and then snaps it shut before throwing it back into her bag. Now that she has heard that phone ring, the silence begins to scare her.

"Baby," she scolds, before walking over to her bed. But then she stops and turns around, her eyes finally falling upon it. She laughs at how innocent it seems, remembers the day she packed it almost two years ago. Her mother had taken a large marker and written "newspaper stuff" on the sides and told Rory to rub it for good luck. "Damn her," Rory mutters before grabbing the blanket off the bed and heading back into the living room. She cannot bring herself to move the box and yet, she also cannot sleep with that box in there. It haunts her.

Instead, she turns out the lights, flops down on couch, and covers herself with the blanket. Sleep does not come for hours. It is too dark and too quiet and all she can see is her mother's devastated face.

**III.**  
A ringing startles Lorelai from her restless sleep. It takes her a moment to remember that she's in Luke's bed, and then it takes another few moments to realize that the ringing is coming from the television, not her phone. She falls back against the pillows and sighs, inwardly scolding herself for being so hopeful. Of course it had not been the phone ringing; of course Rory had not called. It is past three AM now and, well, Rory is certainly beyond the point of needing her for anything. After all, Rory has made that _painfully_ obvious over these past few days.

Luke snorts in his sleep, and his slumbering presence suddenly steals Lorelai's immediate attention. She turns onto her side and draws closer to him, watching the outline of his chest as it rises and falls with each steady breath. She uses his breathing as a ruler for her own, matching each of his shuddering snores with a deep inhalation of her own. Slow and steadily, she breathes – in, out, in, out – his breaths are too deep and too slow for her. She quickly finds herself panting and she allows for her own breathing pattern again, listening instead to her heart pounding in her ears as the uncanny silence overpowers even Luke's loudest snores.

Restless, Lorelai curls up against Luke's side and grasps his hand lightly within her own. His own grip is limp from slumber and she finds a sort of guilt-laced comfort from this unconscious embrace. She can only approach him for a certain reassurance in his waking hours – as a shoulder to cry on, a friendly ear to listen to a rant. However, the moment she craves it, that all-consuming desire to be physically comforted, to allow some of the burden of her own suffering onto his shoulders, she shies away. Lorelai imagines the look on his face, heavily laden with unbridled pity. She knows that it may all be her own perception; a projection of her own fears onto Luke, but this revelation does not stop her from shuddering involuntarily. She is unable to tolerate it, unable to even face the thought of being pitied. She has dealt with her own problems before and she will, without a doubt, sort out the Rory-Yale conflict, as well.

She remembers when she moved out her parents' house, recalls the fear, pain, and, above all else, the utter loneliness she felt as she clutched a slumbering Rory to her chest. It had been difficult, but she had gone out on her own and had accomplished great things, created an envious life for herself and her daughter that would not exist, had it not been for this independence. She had only been able to begin cultivating the relationship she has (_Had,_ she reminds herself sadly, _had with Rory_) once she moved away. Independence had been a blessing then and, again, it had liberated her when she opened her own inn, a success that would have never graced her life, had it not been for a daunting obstacle in her life. Time and time again she, alone, had turned conflict into success, impossible into the absolute possible. When Rory needed to go to Chilton, when the house needed to be exterminated, when her inn needed money, she had dealt with it all. Alone, no pity. I can do it, she assures herself.

As the thoughts race about in her mind, the finish line just out of reach, she drifts in and out of consciousness, clinging fruitlessly to the promises of the unconscious world. Yet, only twenty minutes – twenty agonizingly uncomfortable minutes – pass before Luke's alarm shrieks, shattering the silence, and thus effectively snatching away any lingering possibility of sleep. For the first time ever, she sits up before Luke does, causing him to open a bleary eye questioningly.

"I wanted to get an early start on the morning," she offers and immediately cringes, knowing how illogical that statement sounds. Luke knows as well as she does that it takes much cajoling and promises of gallons of coffee before Lorelai would willingly wake up before seven AM.

"Did you sleep at all?" he questions groggily.

"Yes."

He lets out a groan as he slides out of bed. "I could've sworn I heard Miss Cleo in the background of my dreams, at one point."

"Were they dirty dreams?" He ignores her comment, fixing her with a pointed look, instead. "Okay, I might've watched a few infomercials," she supplies sheepishly.

"Lorelai, you know that, well… I'm here, if you… ya know, uh, need me."

Lorelai nods. She does know this; in fact, it may be the only consistency in her life right now. But she declines, not wanting him to "fix" her, needing nothing more than his flannel and silent support. As he dresses, she stares at the back of his head, trying her best to telepathically express her desires without hurting Luke in the process. _Shouldn't we have some crazy heart-to-heart connection?_ Unfortunately, she realizes, that probably is not the case.

Donning his traditional flannel shirt and blue jeans, he grabs his hat from his the night table and throws it haphazardly onto his head. She watches, still lying against the pillows. He offers a lingering kiss and a dubious glance in her direction, before disappearing downstairs, but not without leaving behind promises of coffee and pancakes in his wake. Yet, she remains upstairs and it becomes absolutely vital to go to work, leaving with merely a hasty goodbye wave in Luke's general direction.

**IV.**  
A rapping on the glass door jolts Rory from her sleep. As she regains control over her breathing, she squints in the daylight, tangled in her blanket, momentarily blissfully ignorant to her surroundings. She attempts to extricate herself from the blanket and instead falls off the couch, still wrapped in the blanket, blinking rapidly and squinting at the apartment around her. All too soon, the memories flood her: Mitchum Huntzburger's words, the arrest, dropping out of Yale, the look on her mother's face…

"Ugh," she mumbles as the knocking continues, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her body as she struggles to stand and then continues to stumble toward the door. Seven o'clock is much too early to wake up on a normal day, but it is especially early after a terrible night's sleep. She's surprised to see her grandmother standing at the door and rubs her bleary eyes before opening it and standing back, allowing Emily access to the living room.

"Good morning, Rory!" her grandmother chirps with far too much excitement for this early in the morning.

"Good morning, Grandma," she mumbles in return.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you? Well," she continues without waiting for an answer, "your grandfather and I were hoping you would join us for breakfast."

"Oh, well, I…" Rory falters. Her original plan had been to drive around the neighborhood and find a place that serves decent coffee and donuts, and then to hit the library for an all-day reading binge (something her mother would never allow her to do, she had realized with a painful sort of pleasure). "Sure," she replies, biting back a sigh. Despite her original plan, she feels obligated to join them. After all, she is putting them out, letting her stay as they are. _I'll just have to do the coffee and donut search tomorrow._

"Wonderful! Why don't you get dressed? I'll wait here."

"Oh Grandma, you don't have to wait for me…"

"Nonesense, I can entertain myself for a few minutes!" Emily sits down on the couch, emphasizing her resolve. "Go on…"

"All right," Rory replies, eyeing Emily dubiously for a moment before retreating to her bedroom.

Emily waits until she hears the click of the door to walk over to the bookcase and run her eyes up and down the shelves. She sighs, finding nothing of interest. _There must be something_… she mutters to herself, _anything_ to clue her in on Rory's sudden desire to drop out of college. Rory and Richard had been so secretive about the whole situation. _She's feeling overwhelmed, she needs some time off, that's all. Just support our granddaughter,_ he'd insisted. Well, she _is_ supporting the girl, but Emily is nothing if not curious, by nature. Rory's sudden desire to drop out of college seems to have merely materialized out of thin air. She had seemed so _happy_ in college this year, what with her marvelous grades and Logan, and all. Yes, Rory has so much determination; Emily imagines it would take _a lot_ to affect Rory this deeply.

A rustling from within Rory's bedroom surprises Emily out of her daze and she quickly returns to the couch. Rory appears a moment later wearing a purple blouse and blue jeans and Emily nods approvingly before rising. She grabs Rory's elbow and says, "Come, I don't know about you, but I'm starving!"

Rory nods and allows herself to be dragged out of the pool house. However, Emily stops and, after a moment, Rory does the same. "Rory, you do know that you can talk to me?"

She nods with a furrowed brow. "I know. Thank you, Grandma."

"About _anything_, you know," she continues. "You never have to feel nervous around me. I'm not judging."

Rory smiles. "I know. Thank you."

Emily stares at her granddaughter for another minute, but Rory seems unaware of the point she's trying to make. _Either that, or she's blatantly ignoring me_, she muses, thinking of Lorelai and how similar the two girls often can be. _Oh, Lorelai_, she thinks to herself, but refuses to allow her thoughts to go any further. Lorelai was, as usual, angry with she and Richard, and, yet _again_, Emily could not for the life of her understand why. Extricating Lorelai's quirky stubbornness took a great deal of time and energy - two resources that she just did not have enough to spare at the moment. "Great, then, let's go."

Emily ushers Rory inside quickly, muttering that they shouldn't keep Richard waiting much longer. Richard miraculously tears his eyes away from his newspaper, carefully placing it on the table when she and Rory enter. He smiles brilliantly at his granddaughter and chirps, "Well, good morning!"

Rory returns the smile, but with half the effort. "Good morning, Grandpa. What's new in the world today?"

"Oh, you know, people die, countries fight…"

"Ah, so the usual."

"Indeed."

"Rory," Emily interrupts, "what would you like to eat?"

"I…" Rory falters, looking down at the table for some sort of a hint as to something to choose. She is dismayed to find only coffee on the table, instead. She thinks of all of her options – waffles, omelets, toast, fruits… and the list goes on. Nothing seems to jump out at her. _What's wrong with me?_ She cannot seem to make a simple decision. She breathes deeply, attempting to fight off the wave of nausea that hits her, sending a prickly panic up and down her spine.

"Rory?" Richard questions, leaning forward. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replies hurriedly. "Everything's fine."

"How about pancakes?" Emily offers gently, eyeing Rory dubiously in the process. "I just found a _wonderful_ recipe for blueberry pancakes in an old charity cookbook we got at some occasion or another," she supplies offhandedly.

"Oh, uh, that sounds wonderful. Thank you."

"Wonderful. Sarah," Emily calls into the kitchen, "bring out a stack of blueberry pancakes for my granddaughter, please!" She turns back to Rory. "You know, she's not the brightest, but she makes _marvelous_baked goods."

"Oh, well… it sounds great!"

"Rory," Richard begins, "I thought you could come into the office with me today."

"Oh, uh… sure," Rory agrees. Her plan was to get a job on her own, after today, of course. _So much for spending the whole day reading_, she thinks, frustrated. But again, she owes her grandfather. She cannot possibly tell him no. She just hopes he won't go overboard on this job. She's just looking for something temporary before she finds her new niche.

"I allowed my secretary an extra week of vacation now that you're around." He leaned in conspiringly. "You know, I trust you much more than I trust her."

"Well, I appreciate that, Grandpa."

"So, it's settled. We'll leave after breakfast."

"Sounds great," replies Rory, mustering up all the fake enthusiasm she can possibly endure.

The maid places a stack of pancakes in front of Rory, more than she could possibly eat in one sitting, despite her unnatural eating habits. Rory pours a hearty serving of maple syrup over the pancakes, watching as the syrup seeps across the plate. Suddenly realizing how famished she is, Rory takes a forkful of pancake and shoves it in her mouth. She chews for a long time before forcing herself to swallow. The pancakes are good, but they are not anywhere near as tasty as Luke's. Thinking of Luke's pancakes is making her think of home, the last thing she wants to think about at the moment. She doesn't feel very hungry anymore.

Nothing is turning out as she had originally envisioned.

**V.**  
Lorelai stands outside Luke's, leaning against the wall as she stares down morosely at her cell phone. She sighs and closes her eyes, the words 'Rory's cell' burning a glowing green behind her eyelids. It isn't that she doesn't _want_ to call, but she just _can't_ bring herself to try. She cannot stand to hear the anger, the sadness, the defeat in her daughter's voice, not to mention the blame that she knows will be placed upon herself. _Rory needs to figure this out on her own_, she has told herself time and time again. Nonetheless, Lorelai can't quite let go, can't stop herself from praying that her daughter call her and tell her it was all a mistake. It will not happen, she knows, but she is hoping for it, all the same.

With a groan, she snaps the cell phone shut and throws it into her purse. Standing here and staring at a phone isn't going to change anything. Yet, she cannot quite move, knowing that, eventually, someone will notice her standing out here, but needing that push before she could make the plunge inside. News travels fast in this small, close-knit town; she has known that for ages and, normally, she appreciates this idiosyncrasy. However, now it merely means that the entire town knows that Rory has dropped out of Yale. Although only a day has passed, Lorelai is becoming increasingly frustrated by the abundance of sorrowful looks and offerings that Rory "will be okay," being thrown in her direction. _Why can't they all just leave me alone?_ she wonders angrily.

The bells above the diner door jingle and Lorelai snaps her head to the side, watching as Luke takes a few long strides toward her. "What are you doing out here?"

She holds up her cell phone and smiles ruefully. "Trying to make a phone call."

His tone softens immediately, the concern plainly written on his face as he takes her hand. "Any luck?"

"No."

"Well, have you tried –?"

"It's too soon," she insists, ignoring the pained look that crosses Luke's features before he successfully hides the hurt.

"Okay."

"I will… call, that is. Soon."

"Okay," he repeats. "Wanna come inside?"

She nods. "Let me just –" She gestures to her bag.

"Okay, I'll be inside. Why don't you head upstairs, we'll have dinner?"

"Sounds perfect," she tells him.

She watches him re-enter the diner and disappear behind the curtain leading to the stairs, before putting her cell phone away and taking a few deep, steadying breaths. Mustering up all of her resolve, she yanks the diner's front door open, bells clattering loudly, and marches inside. She is relieved when none of the customers seem to pay her any notice, and heads straight for the stairs, forcing herself to focus on the loving man waiting for her upstairs.

Of course, the defeat, the knowledge that she has failed her daughter doesn't leave her completely. She's not sure it ever will.

When she enters his apartment, it's dark, save the candles that he has aligned throughout the room. Soft music permeates and she grins, dropping her purse onto the side table and drifting toward Luke, who is standing at the stove. "You wonderful, _wonderful_ man," she sighs into his arms. "This is _just_ what I needed today."

"Good," he replies, turning so that he can wrap his arms around her frame. "You're tense."

"Long day," she moans, plopping down on a kitchen chair. Lorelai pushes away the salad that Luke had left hopefully in front of her. Remembering his earlier hurt, after he had tried to give her advice outside of the diner, she supplies, "You know, I kept waiting for Rory to call and she didn't. Of course she won't," Lorelai replies off-handedly in between spoonfuls of chicken soup, "but I kept _hoping_ she would. Hope is tricky, I guess."

"She'll come around," Luke states confidently.

"You think so?"

"I know so. She's Rory; she'll get through this. She always does."

"She does, doesn't she?" asks Lorelai with little enthusiasm.

"She just needs your support."

"Hah, _right_. I'm pretty sure that's what got us into this situation in the first place."

"Well," he agrees with a frown, "maybe your silent support."

She lifts her glass, a bit of wine dripping down her fingers as she swings it in the air, making a cumbersome toast. "To a new beginning!" Luke doesn't lift his glass; just gives her a confused look that borders frustration. "To a Rory-less life."

"Lorelai…"

"Cheers!"

"You're stubborn, you know that?"

"Yes," she replies haughtily before groaning. "Sorry to put a damper on this night. I mean, here you make this _amazing_ dinner for me – by the way, this soup is great! You should totally serve it at the diner -" Luke makes a disbelieving noise - "And I totally just whine and ruin the whole night!"

"Lorelai," he states firmly, "you're not ruining anything. I'm here for you; I want to help. I want you to trust me," he adds in a smaller, less confident voice.

Lorelai stares at Luke, overwhelmed yet again by his unwavering loyalty. He may be a closed book to her, but one thing she will _never_ doubt is his dedication to her. Her own dedication, on the other hand, well, it confuses her. She wants to let him help, she really, truly does. But not now - not in this situation; it's too complicated. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she grumbles instead.

He nods, but she notices the flash of disappointment in his eyes before it disappears. Of course, he wants to hash it out, put all the pieces of Rory's life on the table and then fix it. He's Luke – that's what he does, and that's why one of the many things she loves about him. But he's being too idealistic; it cannot be fixed, not in the way he thinks. She's finally come to terms with the fact that things will be as they are and there's nothing either of them can do about it. She knows Luke will not feel the same way.

"So, how was your day?" she asks casually.

Luke collects their empty soup bowls and dishes food into serving pieces. "Oh, it was… you know, the usual."

"So lots of yelling at Taylor, rolling eyes at Kirk, and avoiding Miss Patty?"

"Pretty much."

"Interesting."

Luke places the food onto the table and gives her a meaningful look. Lorelai raises her eyebrows, but says nothing as she ladles large helpings of mashed potatoes onto her plate, carefully sidestepping the vegetables in the process. He watches her as she does so, his plate remaining empty as he bites his lip anxiously.

"Uh…" She waves a hand in front of his face. "Luke?"

"Huh?" he asks, snapping out his daze.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, you looked like you'd gone a little space cadet-y on me just now."

"Oh." He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Sorry."

"Something on your mind?"

"No, nothing."

"Luke…"

"Fine, okay. I uh, the thing is… I went to a jewelry store today -" Lorelai raises her eyebrows at this, so Luke continues defensively - "just to look, I was gonna bring you with me next time! But… well, I found a ring and… I thought you'd, uh, really like it…" Luke fishes around in pocket for a moment before producing a black velvet box. He places it on the table and pushes it toward her. As soon as she picks the box up, he looks away, studying his plate sheepishly, instead.

"Luke…" she breathes, lifting the box with trembling hands. The hinges squeak as she opens it and is stunned to see the white gold shimmering in the candlelight. Three quarters of the ring are covered by small diamonds, and at the center, the two sides of the ring come together in a single teardrop-shaped diamond. "Wow."

"If you don't like it, we can exchange it," he replies hastily.

"No! You touch this ring and you _die_, mister."

He chuckles lightly, the tension slowly leaving his features. "I'll remember that."

Lorelai leans over and kisses Luke gratefully. "I love it."

"Good."

Lorelai studies the ring in the box for a minute, daring herself to touch it. It looks too perfect to be real, to be _hers_. Instead, she gently places the box on the table, no longer trusting her trembling hands with its precious load. _I don't deserve this,_ she thinks sadly, remembering all that she isn't telling Luke. His voice cuts into her daze and she looks up at him, questioningly.

"Do you want me to put it on?" he repeats.

"Uh, well…" Suddenly, her breath freezes in her lungs and she quickly looks away from his hopeful eyes. "Luke…"

"What?" he asks sharply, defensively, in response to her hesitation.

"I _really_ want to wear this. I mean, this is… it's beautiful. But… Rory…"

"What about Rory?"

"Well, if I wear the engagement ring, people will find out that we're, you know, engaged… and eventually Rory will find out!"

"So?"

"So, she can't find out from someone else… it would be devastating!" Well, at least Lorelai wants to believe such, whether or not it's the truth. The truth of the matter is she doesn't know where her relationship with Rory stands, if her daughter even considers the possibility of its existence anymore.

"Are you planning on… ever telling her?"

"Of course," she whispers, hurt by his implication. If she doesn't tell Rory, she and Luke could never get married, and that is the last thing Lorelai wants. _Isn't it?_ she asks herself. Of course it is, she decides, yet her heart does not seem to want to cease its pounding in her chest. She can hardly concentrate on anything else.

"Well, when?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Not now. Things are so… rough, you know? Just please…" she begs in a hoarse whisper. "Please don't take this the wrong way. I'll tell her soon, I promise. I just need to wrap my mind around this whole new situation."

"Yeah, okay," Luke agrees a little less grudgingly than before.

Lorelai exhales shakily. She wants to touch him, to physically reassure him of her loyalty, but she's afraid – afraid that he doesn't quite believe her, afraid that she doesn't quite believe herself. "Thank you," she responds instead. "I would never do this to hurt you, you have to believe that."

"Yeah," he agrees, "I know."

Yet, she can't help but notice the way his eyes refuse to meet her own.

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter Three

**Inching Closer**

_Chapter Three_

**A/N: **_Thanks for the great feedback! Hopefully, this chapter will not disappoint. Also, a huge thank you to my beta, **JenniGellerBing**. Any complaints can be taken up with her… (Just kidding, don't do that.)_

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**VI.**  
"Lorelai!" Sookie greets enthusiastically from her seat on her porch. Lorelai smiles and waves, jogging up the stairs to reach her friend. Her smile broadens when she notices the bundle in Sookie's arms.

"Oh," Lorelai breaths, bending forward to examine the baby closer. "She's already gotten bigger, and I just saw her yesterday!"

"I know! They grow up too fast."

"You're telling me," Lorelai replies with a catch in her voice. She looks sharply toward Sookie, but, luckily, Sookie is too enthralled in her daughter to notice Lorelai's sudden bout of emotion. _This is Sookie's day_, she reminds herself, attempting to push away all thoughts of her estranged daughter. _Estranged,_ she thinks bitterly. That's one word she never thought she would associate with her daughter. "So," she attempts, "what's it like to have two kids instead of one?"

"Tiring! Let me tell you, last night was pure _hell_. First, this one –" she gestures with her chin to the baby on her lap – "cried _every_ half an hour! God, I've forgotten what that's like. To top it off, Davey's not used to the crying and, I don't know, it bugs him or frightens him or… something, because then _he_ started crying! Whose idea was it to have two in two?"

"Beats three in three."

"Yeah," Sookie breathes, "good point. Want something to drink?"

"Nah, I'm good." Lorelai sits down on a chair beside Sookie and reaches out to stroke the baby's cheek. "She's adorable."

"Yeah, she really is. Can I tell you a secret?"

"Hmm?" Lorelai asks, somewhat distracted by the feel of the soft skin beneath her fingertip.

"I'm really, _really_ glad this one's a girl. Now I have one of each! And, you know, it'll be a lot easier to bond with a little girl, I think. I can teach her how to bake chocolate chip cookies and coconut cream pie and – oh! I just found this _great_ new recipe for beef soufflé!"

"Maybe you should focus on the ABC's first," replies Lorelai with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Besides, you can do all that stuff with Davey, too. Some of the best chefs _are_ men, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah. But… I don't know, I always pictured it as me and our daughter cooking while Jackson took our son out to cultivate the new spinach crop…"

"That's, uh, quite some picture there."

"Too idealistic?" asks Sookie with a grimace.

"Well…" Lorelai pauses contemplatively, thinking back to her own dreams of a family. Sure, they have only recently taken form, but sometimes, when she lets her guard down, she unwittingly imagines what life would be like with another child or even… children. At night, in the moments between waking and sleeping, Lorelai often pictures she and Luke taking their children to the park. Luke pushes their daughter on the swing as their son, the older of the two, sits on the swing beside hers, kicking his legs up and down, squealing for Lorelai to watch as he flies higher and higher…

"Lorelai?"

"Huh?"

"You okay? I think I kinda lost you for a second…"

"Yeah," she replies distractedly. Perhaps, Sookie _is_ being too idealistic. However, if that's the case, than Lorelai is guilty of the same offense. The thought makes her dizzy. She pushes it away. "Yeah, I'm fine, just tired."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you know, they were showing _Flash dance_, _Footloose_, and _Saturday Night Fever_ on TV last night and I just _had_ to stay up and watch! The perfect combo…"

"Uh huh. So it has nothing to do with your current Rory situation?"

"Not you, too," Lorelai cries, covering her face with her hands. "You've been in the freaking hospital for the past three days and you _already_ know."

"Gossip travels fast 'round here."

"So I've noticed."

"So… it's true, then? Rory dropped out…?"

"Yes."

"…And is living with your parents."

"Unfortunately."

"That's insane! I mean, it's _Rory_! Why would she do this? Oh! It's that Logan kid, isn't it? You know, I _knew_ he was bad news as soon as you told me about the limo incident! If I get my hands on him, I'll ring that little ne –"

"Sookie! You're setting a bad example for the baby."

"Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away…"

"Just a tad."

"It's just so crazy! I mean, this is _Rory_."

"I know…"

"Rory doesn't do this kind of thing."

"Well, she's going through a rough time right now. I can't go into detail, but, you know, she's questioning, well, everything. Her career path, her past accomplishments…" Lorelai sighs. "She's not really herself right now."

"Why? Why would she even question –?"

Lorelai shakes her head. "I can't… I can't say."

"Right." She nods. "Right, okay. Send her my love next time you talk to her, will you?"

"Sure," she promises, careful to avoid mentioning the fact that she and Rory are currently not speaking. "I'll do that."

"Good."

"Good," Lorelai repeats. "So –" Lorelai turns around to glance inside the window – "where's the hubby?"

"Oh, he and Davey are up to something."

"Something no good, I assume?"

"Naturally. Speaking of men… how're things going with Luke?"

Lorelai gives Sookie a sidelong glance. "Great connection there." Sookie shrugs innocently in return. "Things are great. Why do you ask?"

"Good! I mean, it seems like they're good. You know, moving forward and all."

"Yeah, I guess…" Lorelai shuffles in her spot, suddenly very suspicious by this uncomfortable conversation. "What exactly do you mean by 'moving forward'?"

"Well, the house!"

"The… house?"

"Yeah, I know that you didn't want anyone to know and all – or at least, that's what I'm assuming since you didn't tell me about getting the house and, as your best friend, I assume I'd be one of the first to know you're moving – but, as I said, this is a small, _small_ town and news travels fast around here…"

Lorelai is used to Sookie's fast-paced, often reckless way of speaking, but, right now, nothing is adding up. Instead, she merely gapes at her friend, trying desperately to follow the words coming out of her mouth. A house? What house? She's moving? "Sookie, what in the _world_ are you talking about?"

"The Twickham House! Are you upset that I know? I'm sorry, don't be mad, it's just I overheard Miss Patty and at first I told her she was being crazy, but –"

"Sookie," Lorelai interrupts in a stern voice. "I need you to tell me, slowly and clearly, what you're talking about because I'm not following."

"Luke put a bid on the Twickham House…" She freezes, suddenly putting two and two together. "You didn't know about that… did you?" Lorelai merely shakes her head. "Oh, no. That… can't be good."

"No," Lorelai whispers.

"I'm sure he's gonna tell you soon. I mean, he did buy it for you two."

"Did he?" Lorelai wants to sound accusatory, wishes she could believe Luke was trying to, in some way hurt her, but she just _can't_. If there's one thing in her life she can be sure about, it is that Luke would never intentionally hurt or humiliate her.

"Well, he told Taylor, when he was trying to win the place, back when it was being auctioned off, that he wanted it for you two to… start a family." She pauses and regards Lorelai carefully. "I think that's a pretty good sign, don't you?"

"Uh… yeah," she finally manages.

Sookie tilts her head. "Lorelai?"

"What? I'm fine. I'm totally and completely, uh, fine. I'm just gonna… go."

Lorelai struggles to stand, but, before she can do so, Sookie exclaims, "No, don't go! Here –" She thrusts her daughter into Lorelai's arms – "Now you can't get up, unless, of course, you want to take the baby with you."

Lorelai rolls her eyes and readjusts her hold on Sookie's daughter. "I'm fine, Sookie. I just need to, you know, talk to Luke."

"Oh no. No, no, no. You can't talk to him now!"

"Why not?"

"You're upset –"

"No, I'm not."

"You're vulnerable, you're shocked… you might say some things you'll regret."

Lorelai sighs, knowing that Sookie's right, but too torn between feeling betrayed and just plain angry to care. She doesn't need someone to plan her life out for her! After all, that's what she has been fighting against all along – struggling to become independent. She has always believed Luke would be one of the only people who wouldn't try to take that right away from her. Perhaps, she had been misled. "Look, it's just… _why_ would he do this? Why wouldn't he ask me first?"

Sookie shrugs. "He wanted surprise you?"

"Surprises in Stars Hollow? C'mon, Sookie, Luke's smarter than that," Lorelai grumbles.

"Okay, okay… but look at it _this_ way. Luke could've kept a secret that's much worse than this!"

Lorelai snorts. "Like what?"

"Like that he's secretly collaborating with terrorists or, um, your father."

"Gee, thanks for the help."

"He could've been cheating on you." Lorelai tenses. "But he's not! I'm just saying, that's something worse…"

"I guess." Sookie raises her eyebrows. "Yeah, okay, you're right. But that doesn't change that he's been hiding something from me!"

"And you've _never_ hidden anything from him, Lorelai?"

"No," Lorelai scoffs. Sookie's knowing tone makes Lorelai apprehensive. _She doesn't know_, Lorelai reminds herself. She _can't_ know about the pregnancy scare. It's just not possible.

"Need I remind you," Sookie continues, "of the Great Christopher Incident of '05?"

Lorelai stifles a relieved sigh and, instead, forces herself to look guilty. Sookie is right, of course; she has hidden things from Luke before, with Christopher. Moreover, when the truth came out, the results had been catastrophic. Lorelai inwardly winces, remembering the pain of their temporary break-up. But this is different; her pregnancy scare is just that – a scare. If she actually _had_ been pregnant, then she would have certainly told him. But, in this situation, the line is hazy – it was a false alarm. Lorelai chose to keep it a secret, not to scare him away. _I'm doing him a favor_, she convinces herself. After all, what he doesn't know can't hurt him. "Fine," she finally replies, "but that doesn't change the fact that I'm angry."

"Okay, but –"

Suddenly, a crash coming from the inside of the house is heard. Sookie jumps up, startled, and, just as she opens her mouth to yell at Jackson, he hollers, "Just a little mishap, don't worry!" out an upstairs window.

Sookie finds Lorelai's eyes frantically, and Lorelai shrugs. "I would worry…"

"Yeah," Sookie breathes. "I'll be right back."

Lorelai nods as Sookie dashes into the house. Lorelai stifles a laugh when she hears Sookie screaming up the stairs. She then looks down at the baby, as she began to drift off to sleep in Lorelai's arms. She smiles and cradles the baby closer to her.

**VII.**  
Rory places the key in the pool house doorknob and opens it. Upon entering, she throws her purse on the couch and heads straight for the coffee maker. She's fairly tired from a long (and, although she would never admit it, incredibly dull) day at her grandfather's work, but she still wants to get some reading in before she falls asleep. It isn't until she's walking back toward the living room, coffee cup in hand, that she realizes there's a suede coat lying on the arm of the couch. Rory approaches, thinking that the coat looks vaguely familiar, when she hears a loud, "BOO!" from behind. She whips around, frightened, and collides soundly with Logan, causing them both to tumble to the floor.

"Oww," he complains. "Did you have to do that?"

"Logan!" Rory yells, jumping to her feet. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Came for a little visit," he replies casually, as he picks himself up off the floor. "Surprised?"

"Scared _out of my mind_, is more like it. You shouldn't be here."

"Well, you've been kinda MIA lately; what was I supposed to do?"

"You could've called me!"

"I _did_ call you… at least five times a day! You haven't been answering your phone, Rory."

"I've been busy."

"Bullshit!"

"Logan…"

He sighs and collapses onto the couch. Rory frowns and, after studying him for a moment, follows suit.

"I know you're going through a rough time right now, Rory. But do you have to cut me off completely?"

"I wasn't –"

"I mean, I'm your boyfriend… I should know what's going on with you, where you're living, what you're doing… that you're dropping out of college."

Rory grimaces. "You heard about that?"

"Yeah." He smiles apologetically. "I know people."

"Look, things are really tough right now and I didn't want to get more people involved. I'm just trying to resolve everything… alone."

"It's about what my dad said."

"Logan…"

"Isn't it?"

"Well, partially."

"Damn it, he always ruins everything! Look," he says, grabbing Rory's hand. "Don't listen to him, okay? He thinks he's better than everyone else."

"Well, isn't he?" she grumbles.

"More experienced, maybe. Lucky… probably. Better?" he mutters, as he strokes the top of her hand with his thumb. "Absolutely not."

"Thanks," she whispers with a small smile.

Logan nods in response and then slowly leans forward. He cups Rory's face in his hands and brings her close to him, touching her lips softly with his own. However, when Logan's hands drift up to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, for a more intense kiss, Rory shakes herself free of his grasp and slides to the other side of the couch. Logan swallows audibly, watching Rory with unbridled shock as she struggles to catch her breath.

"Not now," she finally manages.

"Rory…"

"Not here."

"But –"

"My grandmother gave me specific orders not to have any guests in the pool house. And, well, when she said guests, I'm fairly sure she meant you… I mean, who else would visit me, anyway? Okay, I guess some people would, like Lane or maybe Paris, but it's _you_ she was referring to - I know it! And, I mean, it's one thing to sleep with you in the dorm, but here… in my grandparents' house… after they've taken me in without question? I couldn't do that to them! I can't, I mean… I don't –"

"Rory, calm down." Logan scoots down to her side of the sofa and attempts to grab her hand, but she pulls away. "Rory… we don't have to do anything. We can just talk."

"You have to leave," Rory demands, looking around the room nervously. She knows that she and Logan are alone, but she cannot help but worry that, perhaps, her grandmother has planted bugs throughout the pool house. Sure, it seems illogical, but it _is_, after all, Emily Gilmore, and, well, Rory is not quite able to think logically with Logan in the room, to begin with. "You shouldn't be here," she repeats helplessly.

"Don't worry, I won't stay long. They'll never know."

"But –"

"Do you _want_ me to stay?"

"Of course, but…" she falters, "you can't…"

"If you want me here, then I'll be here. They'll never know," he repeats. "I promise."

Rory sighs and bites her lip, watching Logan closely as he gazes eagerly back. He should not be here; her conscience will not let her forget. Yet, she really, truly _doesn't_ want Logan to leave. She gets lonely in this apartment, alone, at night, and Rory is not used to living without her mother's crazy stunts or Paris talking her ear off. She has never lived alone before, and the stark emptiness of the place unsettles her. So, she smiles at Logan and crawls along the couch, toward him, closing the space between them. He immediately wraps his arms around her and she presses her lips against his neck, reveling in the comfort his warm body provides.

As soon as Rory pulls her head up, Logan's eyes seek hers. She takes advantage of his hesitation, reaching up to kiss him square on the lips, with more passion than she had ever thought possible. Logan hesitates at first, caught completely off guard by her attack. However, he quickly adapts, drawing his arms tighter around her as he slides off the couch, pulling her after him. Rory breaks the kiss, smiling teasingly at him as she grabs his hand and leads him toward the bedroom.

As soon as they enter, Rory busies herself with pulling his tee shirt up and over his head, forcing herself to think of anything but the fact that she has yet to move her box of painful Newspaper things out of the bedroom, and that she hasn't been able to sleep in this room because of it. Logan pulls her own shirt over her head, and then locks eyes with her. Sensing his hesitation, she eyes him questioningly, brushing her fingers reassuringly over his bare shoulder. He envelops her in his arms, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"I've missed you, Ace," he whispers, and then lowers her onto the bed.

She wants to respond, to tell him that she has missed him, too, but cannot seem to the words. The truth, however, is that she hasn't really allowed herself to think of Logan; she hasn't allowed herself to think of much of anything, these past few days. Thinking leads to longing and Rory does _not_ want to long for her old life. It's over, that part of her life is finished, and her current task is to build a new foundation, find a new path.

Instead, she focuses on the sensation of cool sheets against her bare back, remembering with a mixture of self-loathing and disgust that her grandfather has once slept on this bed. She is violating his trust, betraying the man who took her in, unquestioningly – something even her own mother wouldn't do. Yet, another voice, weak albeit persistent, in the back of her mind, reminds her of how utterly alike she is to her mother, at this very moment. Like her mother, she is unable to resist the comfort of a steady embrace, the dizziness of a lust-laden kiss. If she cannot be with her mother, then, she figures, she might as well act like her mother, instead.

It comforts her.

**VIII.**  
Lorelai begins to walk up and down the length of Sookie's porch, whispering softly to the slumbering baby. The feel of the warm bundle in her arms, the soft and steady breathing against her chest, lulls her into a sense of calm. She does not even realize that her thoughts begin to drift. She imagines that she is holding her own baby, that she looks up and notices Luke's loving gaze fixed upon them. Will she ever have this? Time is flying, but, for a while, things seemed to have been going down the right track, steadily approaching that goal. But now? Things have changed, and she cannot be sure whether she is closer or farther away to having a family with Luke.

The baby begins to cry and Lorelai quickly snaps out of her reverie. She rocks the baby in her arms, whispers soothing words, places a delicate kiss on the baby's soft cheek. As the girl's cries subside, Lorelai thinks of Rory as a baby, remembers how it felt to hold her daughter against her chest possessively. Although Rory had quickly grown up, that fierce desire to protect her daughter had not left her as quickly; in fact, it has only intensified with each coming year. Her daughter no longer depends on her for basic needs; could no longer be held tightly in Lorelai's arms. She had to let Rory be free. She wishes desperately that she knew where Rory was headed, alone. Thinking about her lost daughter causes her to long for their younger days, and she wishes she could somehow re-create the enviable bond that the two of them had shared, so much stronger than that of mother and daughter.

But their relationship has not been like that for years - not since before Yale, before the Dean fiasco, before… everything. Lorelai had stubbornly held onto the memories of their past relationship, how it used to be; only now, after spending so much time apart, can she finally contemplate the possibility that she and Rory have grown up and apart, chosen different paths. _No_, she mutters. _This is only temporary._ She is going to have to call Rory, soon. But not yet… not until she deals with the Twickham House.

She idly remembers what Sookie had said just minutes before. Luke had wanted to buy that house to start a family. Luke wants to start a family with her! Suddenly, it all makes sense; his secrecy, her own secret, the engagement… they both want the same thing! They've both been afraid to find that the other wanted something else, something less, but all that worrying and hiding has been completely useless. _Luke wants a family with me_, Lorelai thinks gleefully. Despite her Rory situation, this is too huge. She isn't going to mess it up, and, if that means hiding it from Rory and her parents, then that's what she's going to have to do. She will not let _anything_ get in the way.

Lorelai digs in her purse with one hand, balancing the baby against her body with the other. When she retrieves her cell phone, she flips it open and dials one-handedly.

"Hi, Mike Armstrong, please? Oh, hey, it's Lorelai Gilmore. Yeah, I've made my decision…"

_TBC…_


	4. Chapter Four

**Inching Closer**

_Chapter Four_

**A/N: **_So, I realized that I either have to finish this series by mid-August or bid it adieu (which I really don't want to do). However, I imagine it will be tough to find the time, energy, desire, and, above all else, privacy to work on a fic during my first months in a college dorm. We'll see. Nonetheless, expect faster updates from me for now on. :) Thank you for the feedback. Honestly, please keep it coming, because your input is a intricate part of this story's progression. To **JenniGellerBing**, who not only stayed up much too late in order to have an in-depth conversation about Rory and Luke's motives, but miraculously read through (and compulsively edited) all 4,000 plus words of this chapter after her Chem. final.  
_

_

* * *

_  
**IX.**  
Lorelai uses one hand to unlock her door, juggling containers of food from Sookie and the day's mail in the other. Finding nothing of immediate interest, she drops the pile of mail onto the coffee table and then throws her keys onto the side table, before hitting the play button on her answering machine. She only half-listens to the first message, a whiny plea from Michel that they change the last-minute reservation policy, choosing instead to wander into the kitchen and shove Sookie's containers into the refrigerator. She grins as she reviews her ingenious plans for the evening. On her way home from Sookie's, she had left Luke a sultry message on his answering machine, inviting him over for a "home-cooked meal." However, the shrill beep of her own answering machine cuts into her pleasant thoughts. Instead, her breath hitches as her mother's voice drifts through the house.

_Lorelai,_ she begins, _It's your mother…_

"No, duh," she mumbles. "It's easy to recognize the owner of the knife stabbed into my back."

_…I'm calling to tell you that Rory's court date has been changed. If you'd like to attend -_ Lorelai frowns at this; is Rory's court date like a dance recital to Emily? _- call me back and I'll let you know what the new date is. I'll talk to you soon._

Lorelai stares at the answering machine, long after the beep dies away. _Emily is a smug one, oh yes,_ she thinks irritably. Lorelai has spent three quarters of her life dismantling her mother's ploys. By now, she is an expert Emily-reader, and can usually pinpoint the woman's motives. _Usually,_ she reminds herself. Emily still has a few original schemes brewing. After all, she has to keep Lorelai on her toes.

"Damn it," she mutters, grabbing the cordless phone from its cradle and heading toward the couch.

However, this time, she knows _exactly_ what Emily Gilmore is cooking up. For the time being, Lorelai is not on speaking terms with either of her back-stabbing parents. However, now, because of the message, she is going to have to call the elder Gilmores; unless, of course, she doesn't want to know the date of Rory's trial, which would, inevitably, qualify her as a bad mother, in Emily's eyes. So Lorelai will call and she knows that, when does, she will be able to literally _hear_ the smug smile on her mother's lips. After all, Emily now knows something important about Rory that Lorelai doesn't know.

"Fine, I don't _care_. It's not like she's the Rory _I_ know, anymore, anyway," she states petulantly, wanting desperately to, but not quite able to believe her own words. "Curse you, Emily Gilmore!"

Sitting up straight, Lorelai inhales deeply, fisting the couch cushions as she steadies herself for battle. After a minute, she lifts her weapon and dials quickly, praying that she calls the wrong number, by mistake, and is perhaps able to have a decent conversation, for a change. The phone rings and Lorelai squirms slightly. On the second ring, she straightens again. However, after the third ring, Lorelai begins to lose her nerve, removes the phone from her ear, and poises to turn it off, but pauses, mid-air, when she hears a voice on the other end. The familiar gut-wrenching nausea hits her as she replaces the phone against her ear and squeezes her eyes shut.

"Hello? _Hello?_"

"Mom."

"Lorelai?" Emily sounds surprised and Lorelai has to bite back her laughter. _Who is she kidding? She knew I'd call!_

But the truth is that Emily had not been sure her daughter would return her call. Although she could often predict Lorelai's responses, she was unsure about this particular scenario. Sure, she has witnessed petty fights before, and even detected a hint of coolness between the girls before her trip to Europe last summer, but she has never once seen Lorelai so adamant in avoiding her own daughter. _But really,_ she tells herself, _I shouldn't be surprised._ After all, how many times has her daughter cut Emily out of her life, just because she could not provide the outcome Lorelai was hoping for? The only difference is, now, she's treating Rory in the same manner.

Emily is struck suddenly by the irony of the situation. She has waited _years_ for this opportunity, for the chance to create a relationship with her granddaughter that isn't tainted by Lorelai's feelings. However, now that she has been given this chance, she feels oddly uncomfortable with her newfound power. However, she quickly brushes away this feeling, returning to reality when she hears Lorelai question, "Mom?"

"I'm here."

"Are you okay?"

"Of course. I was… momentarily distracted."

"Find another maid to fire?" Lorelai mumbles.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Lorelai hastily replies.

Emily has, in fact, heard Lorelai's snide remark, but chooses instead to let it pass. She has more important matters to discuss with Lorelai and, frankly, she is sure she will have plenty of unfortunate opportunities to be offended by her daughter in the near future. "All right. So, I'm assuming you received my message."

"Yep."

"Well, thank you for eventually calling me back. I imagine your excuse for waiting so long is that you've been busy?"

"I _have_ been busy."

"With what?"

"With stuff."

"Stuff. Well… Silly me, I thought you would be vague."

"Mother," she groans, "you said you had Rory's new trial date."

"Yes, I do."

"And…?"

"Are you planning on going?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Well, if you're not going to go, I have no reason to tell you the date, do I?"

"She's my daughter; I need to know this. Whether or not I'm going to the trial makes no difference!"

"Actually, it does. Rory's an adult; you don't need to know _any_ of this. After all, she doesn't live with you anymore."

"Why don't you just say it, Mom?"

"Say what?"

"Just say, you know, 'I know more about Rory than you know… uhh, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah'."

"Oh yes," Emily deadpans. "That sounds just like something I'd say."

"Well, not those exact words, but the idea's still the same."

"The idea is that I'm five years old?"

"Hey, you said it, not me."

"Lorelai, do you _want_ to know Rory's trial date or not? I ask a _simple_ question," Emily adds under her breath.

"Yes, I want to know! Why else would I have called?"

"Then you need to tell me whether or not you're going."

"God, Mom, I swear," she mutters. "Okay, I don't know. Okay? Happy? I don't know. I don't know whether or not I'm going to my _my own daughter's_ trial. Happy? Are you _happy_ now?"

"Thrilled."

"So, when is it?"

Emily shrugs. "You can find out when you decide whether or not you're going. If you decide to go, I will share the date with you. Otherwise, you either need to drop it, or ask Rory, yourself."

"God, Mom. This is ridiculous… As if you haven't done enough already!"

"What? What did I do, Lorelai? Unlike you, I listened to your daughter, to what she was saying, didn't I? Huh, it must be strange for you. I mean, I thought I never listened to anyone but myself. Apparently not. Maybe, just maybe… that's you."

"Mother –"

"Lorelai," she states, attempting a different tactic, "I know what you're going through."

Lorelai laughs bitterly. "How could you _possibly_ know what I'm going through?"

"I've gone through it, too," she says squarely. "I have a daughter, and she has certainly not always lived up to my expectations."

Lorelai pauses. " Well, thanks a lot, Mom," she replies angrily, unsuccessfully hiding the hurt in her voice. "This has been a real _treat_."

"Lorelai…"

"Goodbye, Mother. See you on Christmas."

With that, Lorelai hangs up. Emily sighs, listening to the dead phone until the automatic operator reminds her that her call has been disconnected. She turns it off and places it onto the coffee table, before heading over to the drink cart and pouring herself a glass of vodka.

Her original plan had been to get something out of Lorelai, any sort of hint as to what has caused Rory's sudden change of direction. And, unfortunately, as usual between the mother and daughter, things had taken a different route. However, Emily refuses to lose hope. Lorelai will want to know the date of Rory's trial, leaving her to either call Rory or agree to go to the trial. Either way, it will get the two girls speaking again. Maybe then, possibly, she will be able to find out more about Rory, because, obviously, taking the direct approach with Lorelai has and never will be successful. That's fine; it requires more planning, but it's fine. She _will_ get to the bottom of this whole predicament.

And, if she reconciles Lorelai and Rory along the way? _Well_, she tells herself, _that will just be an added bonus._ It's not her ultimate goal. It's not, she's positive of this. "It's not," she tells her invisible audience. Is it?

**X.**  
Rory stands at the file cabinet in her grandfather's office, integrating the latest batch of files into the system. It is not a particularly challenging task, and Rory has to fight in order to keep her thoughts away from her life. All she really has to do is match the color of the file with its corresponding filing cabinet (yellow files in the far left, red in the center, and green in the right), and then file the folders in alphabetical order. Instead, she has been spending the past ten minutes trying to recall the lines to as many Sylvia Plath poems as she can. This tactic is not particularly stimulating, but if she doesn't focus on something very specific, her mind often wanders, despite her attempts at keeping a clear head.

Rory is in the middle of a stanza when Richard enters. He heads over to Rory, briefly placing a hand on her shoulder and smiling at her. She returns the smile less confidently.

"Any messages while I was out?" He asks as he shrugs off his suit jacket. Rory rushes to take the coat from his hands and hangs it on the coat rack. "Rory," he says seriously, "that really isn't necessary."

"Oh, I don't mind. Besides, I'm your personal secretary now, and that's what secretaries do, isn't it?"

"You're too helpful," he scorns with little conviction, "but I thank you sincerely, Rory."

"Oh, it's not a problem. One second, I'll get your messages." Rory dashes out of the room and, after a moment of shuffling around the secretary's desk, she brings in a stack of notepaper. "Okay, so Albert Stevenson called about the old Anderson property, but he says he's staying at his son's house in Arizona for the week, so he'll call you back later."

"Wonderful."

"Uh, a few other messages, nothing important… oh! Uh, Alan Stein called."

"Oh, did he? Great," Richard mumbles, "I suppose I'll have to talk to him."

"Well, not really. I actually, uh, convinced him to call Jack, instead. I mean, uh, I heard you talking about how he always insists on calling you when he really should talk to Jack, so I just thought… I'm sorry, I'll call him back and tell him –"

"No! No, _please_ don't do that. I'm just… shocked, that's all. I've been trying to get Alan to harass someone else for _ages_. How on _earth_ did you do that?"

"Oh, well, you know… with a little persuasion and a dash of sweet talk and…" She shrugs. "People will do what you want. Nothing inappropriate or anything," she promises, blushing furiously.

"It really is a woman's world," Richard mutters with a smile and a shake of his head. "I'm impressed, Rory."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I have said it before and I shall continue to say it, until I am blue in the face: you have quite a knack for this business."

"Oh, well, you know… I leaned my persuasion skills from the best." The best being Richard, she tells herself, not Lorelai. "But, uh, thank you, Grandpa."

"I mean it, Rory." He sits down at his desk and gestures for Rory to sit in the chair across from his. "You would, without a doubt, be _very_ successful in the insurance business."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Don't be so modest! I know success when I see it. I'm saying this as a businessman, not as your grandfather. There's plenty of room here for someone like you… after you graduate, of course."

"Oh, well…"

"I'm not proposing anything to you, except –" He leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk – "that you contemplate it; keep all of your options open. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course."

Richard nods and sits back, satisfied. "Good."

"Good," Rory agrees uncomfortably. "If you don't mind, I'm going to get back to…" She gestures to the file cabinets behind her.

"Oh, of course. Go on…"

Rory smiles and heads toward the back of the office, her mind swimming with questions that even recalling stanzas of poetry could not ward off. Had her grandfather just offered her a real job? He had told her that she could be talented in the insurance business. That's crazy! How can she be gifted in an area she doesn't particularly care for, and hopeless in the one she loves? _This isn't fair!_ she cries inwardly. Things are supposed to be getting easier, now that she's away from the pressures and expectations of Yale. _But nothing's ever easy_, replies a voice in her head, a voice that bears an uncanny resemblance to her mother's. "Damn it," Rory mutters.

"What's that?" Richard calls absently.

"Nothing, Grandpa. Just a paper cut," she lies. "Sorry."

"Okay."

**XI.**  
Lorelai pads down the stairs in her stocking feet, holding a pair of black sandals in her hand. She drops the shoes in the foyer, and then checks her reflection in the mirror, running her fingers carefully through her wavy hair. She then smoothes her hands down her dress, that slip of a black dress that hugs her curves perfectly, and drives Luke absolutely crazy. Earlier, she had enlisted Kirk in moving the couch away from the coffee table, and then threw the customary mail and magazines that littered its surface into the hall closet, for safekeeping. Now, she bends down and places two piles of pillows on opposite ends of the coffee table, and then covers it with her one and only tablecloth, hiding the large wine stain beneath a plate.

She knows Luke will initially hate the set-up. He has never been a fan of eating on the ground, although she has a feeling that he will give in eventually, because it's the _floor_ and not the ground. Besides, she thinks with a smirk, she has more effective ways of persuading Luke, if good old-fashioned begging fails. No, if the night goes according to plan, their eating arrangements will be the _last_ thing on Luke's mind.

Lorelai kneels beside the table, bouncing anxiously as she checks her watch. "Two minutes," she breathes. She cannot seem to prevent the butterflies that have formed in her stomach as she waits, inwardly begging Luke to be on time. She has never cooked dinner for a man before, and she's afraid something will go unbelievably wrong. Actually, she hasn't technically done any cooking for this meal, unless heating a chicken casserole in the oven constitutes "cooking", but she purposely avoids remembering that fact.

"Candles!" she yells suddenly, scrambling to her feet and yanking random drawers open, in search of candles and candlestick holders. She finds candles, but not the holders. "Wait!" she yells triumphantly, remembering that Emily had given her candlestick holders for Christmas one year. She rummages through the hall closet, but then freezes, suddenly realizing that she had exchanged the candlestick holders for the monkey lamp. She frowns and contemplates asking Sookie to send Jackson over quickly with her candlestick holders, remembering that, the first time Luke had made her dinner, Lorelai had borrowed them for the occasion. However, before she receives the chance to even pick up the phone, she hears a knock on the door. "Oh!" She rummages through the closet once more, grabs two mismatched scented candles, and drops them at the center of the table before hastily lighting them. She surveys the table with her hands on her hips and, after Luke knocks again, states, "It'll do," steps into her shoes, and opens the door with a smile on her face.

Luke raises his eyebrows when he catches his first glimpse of her, and she smiles coyly at him. As he allows his eyes to wander a bit, Lorelai notices that he's carrying two brown shopping bags in his arms.

"What's this?" she asks, gesturing.

"Food."

"Food? I told you I was cooking, why would you need to bring food?"

"Because… you're cooking," he replies gruffly.

"Are you implying that I can't cook?"

"Can I come inside?" he counters.

"Depends, answer my question first." Luke rolls his eyes, but cannot quite hide his smile as he leans in and kisses her. She melts into his embrace for a moment, but quickly jumps aside, glaring at him. "Hey! You did that to shut me up!"

"Works every time," he replies confidently as he enters the foyer, and then closes the door behind himself. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you. I'm still angry at you, though."

"I bought coffee."

She pauses. "Okay, I'm a little less angry now."

"Good. Where should I put this stuff?"

"In the freezer, 'cos we're not eating it tonight."

"Wait, you're seriously telling me you cooked?"

"Why is that so hard to believe? Just because I've never cooked, doesn't mean I _can't_."

"You baked corn muffins once for Stars Hollow Middle School's bake sale. One of Rory's classmates chipped a tooth."

"Hey, it's not my fault the oven timer was broken!"

"And the mashed potato fiasco of '97?"

"I swear the directions said cups, not tablespoons," she mutters.

"Uh huh."

"Okay, fine, I get the picture; I can't cook. Luckily, Sookie cooked, I re-heated."

"Good." Lorelai heads into the kitchen, and Luke follows closely behind her. "You're not upset, are you?"

She turns around and pouts slightly. "I am… but I'll survive."

Luke places the food he brought into the freezer and then watches as Lorelai bends over to take the casserole out of the oven. "Want some help?"

"No, no, this is my meal! You go in the living room and _sit_, okay?"

"Lorelai…"

"Go!"

"Are you sure?"

"Are you _trying_ to go to bed alone tonight?"

"I'll, uh, be in the living room."

She smiles smugly. "Thank you."

Lorelai re-enters the living room with a bowl of salad to find Luke looking down at the table with his arms crossed. He turns around when he notices her presence and points to the table. "You expect me sit down there?"

"Yes."

"On the floor?"

"Yes. I brought pillows."

"We're eating on the floor?"

"Yes. You're quite the clever one, Sherlock."

"Why are we eating on the floor?"

"Because… it's romantic! Would you rather eat at my kitchen table?"

"At least it's not on the floor."

"Luke…" she whines.

"Fine, fine, I'll sit on the damn floor, but I'm not gonna like it."

"Oh," she breathes, "I think you'll like it just a little bit."

"And why's that?"

Lorelai leans forward and trails soft kisses along his stubbly jaw and down his neck, stopping at the collar of his shirt. He closes his eyes and threads his fingers through her hair. "You like that?" she asks.

"Yeah..." he answers absently.

"Well, that's why." She straightens and pulls away from him.

"Lorelai…"

She ignores him and sits down, instead, before piling salad onto his plate. Luke, on the other hand, stares at her, all the while continuing to stand. When she finishes serving his salad, she serves her own, carefully picking out only iceberg lettuce and cucumbers, and then drowning them in Italian dressing.

"You do know that neither of those vegetables have any nutrition."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," she purrs, bating her eyelashes at him.

He huffs and finally sits down on the pillow, picking carefully at his salad. Lorelai watches, amused, until he finally decides that the salad is suitable and begins to let his guard down. Lorelai remains silent, content to merely sit at Luke's side, for the time being. "This… is nice," Luke finally states.

"Well, you've made me dinner so many times, it's the least I could do."

He shrugs. "I like doin' it."

"I know, but still… you deserve a break, every once in a while. Besides, can't I do something nice for my man?"

"You don't have to…"

"But I want to."

"Thanks." Luke leans toward her and begins to rub the inside of her thigh in that delicious way he has perfected. It always astonishes her how this simple touch can be so comforting and, yet, so arousing, at the same time. She allows her eyes to drift shut, enjoying the feel of his fingers against her leg, marveling, as she always does, at how his hands can be so rough, and yet his touch the most gentle she's ever experienced.

"Mmm, Luke," she murmurs. "I need to get the rest of the meal."

"Okay," he replies in a throaty whisper, removing his hand from her leg.

Her skin continues to tingle long after his hand is gone, and she retreats to the kitchen with their plates in her hand. When she returns, she notices that her place setting and pillows have drifted closer to him. She gives him a pleased smile and settles against his chest. "It's gonna be really hard to eat like this."

"Then get up."

"But I don't want to," she whines. "I might just have to drop food all over you."

"I'll be looking forward to it," he deadpans.

They eat in silence for a minute, both tasting the food. Lorelai takes a sip of wine, and then another bite, before exclaiming, "Mm, this is amazing! You know, I've made friends with all the right people."

"Yeah, it is pretty good. Give my compliments to the chef."

"Will do."

"I'm surprised she even had time to cook this," Luke replies thoughtfully, taking a large bite.

"Oh well, you know… it's Sookie." She shrugs. "Plus, I went over there and babysat in exchange for the food."

"Ah, resourceful."

"Thank you." She glances tentatively at Luke, before continuing. "You know, the baby is _so_ adorable."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… and, you know, spending time with her and… just a lot of other stuff that's been happening lately has got me thinking…" He watches her patiently, and, after taking a deep breath, she continues. "Well, about the future, I guess. I never really did much future-thinking, for myself, especially not, you know… man-wise, but you know, we're engaged now and I just thought, well…" She grins at him and entwines their fingers. "I'm not taking the job."

Luke tightens his grasp on her hand. "You're not… taking the job?"

"Nope."

"The consulting job?"

"Yeah. I'm keeping the inn, staying in Stars Hollow… staying with you." She smiles. "How does that sound?"

Luke gapes at her for a moment, and then, without warning, slips out from behind her, causing Lorelai to fall against her elbows. She looks up at his pale face curiously. "Luke, what's - ?"

"You're giving up the job? You're… just giving up the job, just like that, just – just… because I'm here and you wouldn't be?"

"Well, yeah…"

"NO! Lorelai, no!"

Lorelai stands now, too, hands on her hips. "What do you mean, no?" she asks slowly. "You never wanted me to take this job. You got upset when you found out I was mulling."

"Yeah, of course I did because you didn't tell me, didn't let me prepare my – I mean, but don't just – you can't just – Jeez! What were you _thinking_?"

"What?" she asks, astonishment morphing into frustration. "I was _thinking_ that my fiancé lives in Stars Hollow and I want to be near him… what is wrong with that?"

"Nothing is _wrong_ with _that_, Lorelai!" He begins to pace the length of the room. "It's the principle of the thing, okay?"

"What principle…? Of what?"

"Of everything! You don't – you don't want to be here."

"And how do YOU know what I want?" she challenges, her eyes flashing.

"Because I _know_ you, Lorelai!"

"And what exactly is it about me that you… _know_?"

"That you don't want to be here!"

"What?" She mouths wordlessly for a few moments, trying to formulate a suitable response to this lunacy, as Luke glares at her. "Well, Luke," she states in an eerily calm tone - a calm she doesn't feel, "if you think that this is me – that I don't want to be here - then you _obviously_ don't know me."

"No, I know you better than anyone else. You didn't even ask, you didn't even –"

"I didn't ask? I didn't ask if I should _stay_? What? What, Luke," she begins painfully, "do you want to me leave?"

"Only because _you_ want to leave!"

"No, no I don't! Why aren't you listening to me? When have I ever made you think that?"

"Oh, come on, Lorelai. Everyone knows you can't stay in one place!"

"Since when do you listen to what other people say?"

"When what other people say is the truth!"

"Oh my God, this is not happening." She covers her face with her hands for a few moments, before sighing. "LUKE! This doesn't make any sense! What about… all the things you said? I mean… the thing… with the kids?"

"I wasn't being serious," he grumbles.

"And the Twickham House? That was just a joke, too?"

"How do you know about that?" he demands coolly.

"Come on, Luke. This is Stars Hollow; there are no secrets here! Get a _clue_, jeez!"

"Well, it doesn't matter!"

"What? HOW COULD IT NOT MATTER?" she screams, ignoring the pricking pain in her throat, finally losing her composure. "YOU PLANNED MY FUTURE WITHOUT ME! If anything, I should be furious with YOU!"

"No, you don't GET it, Lorelai! It doesn't matter because I'M NOT GETTING THE HOUSE, okay?"

"What?" she asks, feeling as if she's just been slapped across the face. Was everything she had thought about him, everything she thought about their future, one gigantic lie? "Why not?"

"Because!"

"Because why?"

They stare at each other, eye-to-eye, and for one single moment, Lorelai thinks she sees a trace of sadness cross his features. However, his blue eyes quickly turn to ice again and he shakes his head furiously. "Because I don't want you to regret not taking the job," he responds evenly. "Thanks for dinner, I'll see you around."

"Luke!" She yells, following him into the foyer. "It is my business! Luke, we're not finished with this yet! We're not even close to finished!"

However, his slamming of the door proves that, even if she's not finished, he is. She had been _so_ sure that her plan for tonight was foolproof. What just happened? Lorelai stares at the door for a few moments, lip quivering, before sinking to her knees.

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter Five

**Inching Closer**

_Chapter Five_

**A/N: **_This chapter would have been up sooner, but life got in the way for a bit. To all of you have reviewed: thank you SO much. Your feedback is incredibly helpful! (And, in particular, **Muffin Is Injured**, I honestly don't know if I'll post fics after starting the big C-word. My feeling is yes, although probably not any WIP's. It all depends on whether or not I continue to thrive in my loner-like ways.) To the spider on my wall: Eww, go away! To my beta, **JenniGellerBing: **thanks for reminding me in a very roundabout way that I am addicted to this plot, adore these characters (even though they're not mine), and strive for the closest possible state to perfection. _

_It's not just a fic anymore, my friends… oh no, it has become **so** much more than that._

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**XII.**  
Lorelai stands outside of the diner, arms crossed, a frown present on her face. She knows she either has to go in soon or leave because her presence outside is probably beginning to get suspicious, and the last thing she needs is the busybodies of the town making the disagreement into something much more sinister. _It's just a fight,_ she reminds herself. She and Luke have had their fair share of arguments in the past, and, whether they were just friends or in a relationship, they have always moved beyond those rough spots. This instance is no different, she promises; they just need some time to cool off.

This is what she has been telling herself for the past ten minutes as an internal debate has raged inside of her – coffee or no coffee. If she goes inside, she runs the risk of intruding on Luke's space before he is ready, but, if she doesn't go in, not only does she not receive her daily fix of Luke's coffee, but she doesn't get to see Luke. And really, despite how much she tries to tell herself otherwise, that's really the only reason she wants to go to the diner in the first place.

So, she squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, before yanking the diner door open and striding inside. She makes her way toward the counter and inconspicuously looks for Luke. However, she only sees Caesar, who waves at her while taking an order. Lorelai waves back and sits down on a stool, tapping her fingers nervously against the counter and stealing glances in the kitchen. She frowns when she notices that he's not there either.

"Lorelai?" Caesar questions, startling her. He had slipped behind the counter while Lorelai had been caught up in her thoughts, and was now filling a take-out cup with coffee.

"Yeah. Hey Caesar, how's it going?"

"You have the same bug as the boss?"

"What?"

Caesar shrugs. "When I got here an hour ago or somethin', Luke told me he wasn't feeling good and I should hold down the fort till the dinner rush. It's kinda tough, you know, with Lane gone and all, but I said sure 'cos, well, I guess I owe him. I don't think I can remember a time that Luke's been sick."

"Yeah…"

Caesar hands Lorelai her coffee and continues, "He told me not to bother him, but I bet he wouldn't mind you goin' up there... if you know what I mean..."

"Oh, uh," Lorelai hesitates, torn between wanting to see Luke and knowing she should give him his space. "Thanks, but I'm kinda in a rush; Sookie's expecting me."

"Okay."

She fishes for the money in her purse and hands it to him. "Thanks. I'll see you later."

"No problem." Lorelai slips off the stool and is about to open the door when he asks, "Want me to tell Luke you were here?"

Lorelai pauses, frowning. "I guess. Yeah, tell him I came by and… uh, I hope he feels better."

"You got it."

Lorelai exits the diner feeling even more confused than she did when she entered. She sips her coffee as she idly makes her way toward Sookie's, wondering why Luke was hiding. Well, the more she thinks about it, the smarter his tactic seems. After all, he hates being pressured by the townspeople. Yet, she can't help but think that his disappearing act is about more than that. Maybe he's hiding from her. It hurts her to think that Luke can't even bear to see her right now.

However, Lorelai pushes these thoughts aside, to the best of her ability, as she stumbles upon Sookie's house. Jackson is fixing the stairs and greets Lorelai first. She struggles not to trip over him as she passes, and joins Sookie on the porch. She leans down to place a kiss on Davey's cheek, who is sitting on the ground and playing with toy cars, and then grasps Sookie's hand as she sits.

"How's it going?"

"Oh, things are good," Sookie replies, shifting the baby toward Lorelai so that she can see her.

"You don't need anything?"

"Nah, we've got it covered. But thanks."

"Any time."

Lorelai points over to the steps. "So, what happened there?"

"Long story," Sookie replies with a sigh. "It ends with Jackson almost breaking his neck, though."

"Huh. Sounds entertaining."

"Hey!" he pipes up from his spot on the stairs, "It was painful!"

"Yes, hon, we understand."

"I'm sorry, Jackson," Lorelai replies, hiding her smile. "Does he even know what he's doing?"

"I doubt it."

They laugh, and then, Davey, who has crawled over to Sookie's legs, begins to cry, "Mommy!" while holding his hands out toward her. She chuckles and shakes her head. Lorelai silently lifts Sookie's daughter and settles her against her chest, so that Sookie can pull Davey into her lap.

"You always wanna be where the action is, don't ya?" she coos.

Davey laughs and claps his hands, before pointing at his sister in Lorelai's arms and declaring, "Baby!"

"That's right, babe. Lorelai," Sookie states, turning toward her, "I think we've got ourselves a prodigy child, don't you?"

"Oh, definitely! Very good, Davey," she enthuses, grasping the boy's small hand in hers.

However, Davey ignores Lorelai and begins to whimper and squirm against his mother's arms, instead. Sookie rolls her eyes and loosens her grip on him, so that he can climb down her legs and immediately begin to play with his toy cars again.

"Toddlers are like puppies sometimes, lemme tell you. One minute they want to be in on the commotion and the next, they're causing it."

"Hey Sook?" calls Jackson, as he pauses in his work and joins the women on the porch. "Speaking of puppies, I've been meaning to ask you…"

"Uh huh," Lorelai mutters under her breath.

"What?"

"Well, what do you think of maybe getting a dog? I mean, I had one growing up – his name was Cabbage…"

"You know, I really should find that more shocking than I do," muses Lorelai. Sookie giggles in agreement.

"So, what do you think? It could be a _really_ good experience for the kids, too. You know, teach them responsibility and whatnot."

"Jackson, they're not even old enough to take care of themselves!"

"Well, yeah, not yet, but they will be…"

"Yeah, and until then?"

"Well, we take care of it."

"We?" demands Sookie, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Okay, _me_. But Sookie, just think about it…"

"No."

"But – "

"Jackson, if you get a dog, then you're gonna get to know the thing _real_ well, because you will be sleeping in the dog house with it for the rest of your life."

"Point taken," he grumbles. "I'm just gonna get back to work."

"Good idea." Sookie returns her attention to Lorelai and the women immediately begin to laugh. "Can you imagine _me_ with a dog?"

"How about _me_?" Lorelai counters.

"Yeah, or… oh, what about Luke?" she breathes excitedly. "Now he would be _great_ with a dog. He'd agree to that in a million!"

Lorelai suddenly sobers, Luke's name serving as a harsh reminder of the previous night. "Yeah… he'd probably say they're noisy and smelly and do nothing but eat your food and your income… or something."

"Hon?" asks Sookie seriously, "Did something happen between you and Luke?"

"No, why do you think that?" Lorelai demands.

"Well, when I mentioned him, you had a look like Jackson gets after eating fish sticks at Al's."

"It's not my fault. They just don't agree with me," Jackson huffs from his spot.

Lorelai sighs, giving her friend a candid look. "We got into a fight last night."

"Oh no! A big one?"

"A _huge_ one. Sookie, it was a massacre; I'm talking the last act of _Hamlet_ huge here."

"So everyone died?"

"Basically." Lorelai shakes her head and focuses her attention on the slumbering baby in her arms. "I told him I wasn't gonna sell the inn and he just blew up."

"Oh my God, you're not gonna sell the inn?" Sookie squeals, jumping up and hugging Lorelai. "Thank you, thank you!"

Lorelai chuckles and pats Sookie's shoulder. "Now that's the reaction I was going for!"

"Wait, why would Luke be _upset_?"

"I know, right? That's what I said!"

"But…"

"Honestly, I don't know. He starting saying that I didn't really want to stay in Stars Hollow and I was only doing it because he's here. Then there was a lot of yelling and he told me he didn't want me to regret my decision… and then left! And," Lorelai breaths, "I haven't heard from him since…"

"That's crazy! _Men_ are crazy," Sookie states, matter-of-factly.

"It just doesn't make sense. A few days ago, he was angry that I was even thinking of taking the job, and now he's mad that I'm not! How does that – UGH! I don't even know what to think anymore."

"Have you talked to him?"

"I tried, but Caesar told me he wasn't feeling well and was upstairs in his apartment. I know it's just his excuse to get away, but, well, I don't want to push him. I mean, remember what happened the last time I pushed him?" Lorelai asks in a shaky voice. "I don't want to go through that again."

"Oh, hon, he's learned his lesson – he won't do that to you again."

"I guess…"

"He'll come around."

"I just wish we could talk," Lorelai replies, thinking of the secrets they've both kept from each other lately and their utter lack of communication.

Misinterpreting, Sookie replies, "Well, you can talk."

"Huh?"

Sookie points toward the street. Lorelai's breath catches in her throat as her eyes land on Luke, shuffling nervously at the corner of the block. Sookie grins at her and Lorelai shakes her head, but can't hide the smile on her face as she hands Sookie's daughter over to her. "I guess we should talk now."

"Yep."

"Wish me luck."

"You won't need it," Sookie assures her.

Lorelai stuffs her hands into her jeans pockets as she heads over to where Luke is standing. She stops before approaching him completely, and examines him curiously. Noticing her hesitation, Luke closes the gap between them, tentatively grasping her hand. When she doesn't pull away, he squeezes her hand and, in a raspy voice, begins, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell and just… completely lose it. You don't deserve that. It's just, well…" He pauses and Lorelai looks up hopefully at him. "You know…"

"I know?" she repeats, baffled.

"The uh, inn and stuff. I just don't want you to regret giving up the opportunity to do something you love."

"Luke," she says seriously, locking her arms around his neck, "you _have_ to believe me when I say I don't want to take this job. I just want to be with you, okay?"

He hesitates, causing a lump to form in her throat. She closes her eyes, silently begging him to agree, to understand. She doesn't know how to make him believe, but wants nothing more than to know that he can trust her. She remembers, suddenly, the skeptical look she caught in his eyes the night of her proposal, and wonders, just fleetingly, whether the two instances are connected. However, his voice, soft but deep in her ear, brings her back to reality as he whispers, "Okay."

She nods and smiles up at him, forcing away the tears of relief that threaten to spill. Instead, she takes a quivering breath and nods forcefully. "Good."

Luke leans forward and places a soft kiss on Lorelai's lips. She reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and intensifying their embrace. When their lips part, Luke leans his forehead against hers and breathlessly admits, "I hate fighting with you."

"Yeah… I'm not too fond of it myself."

He nods, pulling away slightly. "So... You want some coffee?"

Lorelai gasps. "Do you even have to ask?" She links arms with Luke as they head toward the diner, loving that the tension between them has lightened drastically. "Hey, Luke?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you ever consider getting a dog?"

"No," he states forcefully. "They're annoying, they have bad breath, and they eat your garbage. What good could possibly come out of that?"

Lorelai grins at him before leaning her head against his shoulder contently. "Thank you," she whispers.

**XIII.**  
Rory sits down cautiously on the edge of the bed. Aside from the night she spent with Logan, she has yet to sleep on this bed. The room just seems so lonely, and that box is still sitting on the floor, stealing away any last ounce of bravery. But now, she stares down determinately at her cell phone, willing it, as she does every night, to ring. It doesn't, of course. It never does.

It's been a week since she last spoke to her mother. She knows that if Lorelai hasn't called by now, she isn't going to call at all. This revelation truly hurt. Although they have fought before, this situation is different. The truth is, they technically aren't even fighting. Lorelai is just too disappointed in Rory to call. Rory, on the other hand, knows that, if she calls her mother, the regret that she has buried so well over the past week will force its way to the surface. She hasn't found herself yet, and, no matter how much her mother might want it, she cannot go back to her old life.

Yet, she's sick of sitting here and _waiting_ for something to happen. If her mother isn't going to call, then she should! After all, Rory just wants to hear her mother's voice again. Even though it's childish and she wishes she could ignore the ache in her chest, she misses her mother dearly. "Just a hello," she mutters, while she dials the familiar number. As the phone rings, she tells herself not to expect anything, tries to ignore that annoyingly optimistic voice in her head that thinks maybe, just _maybe_ her mother will let her come home. Maybe her mother will accept her choices.

"Hello?"

"Mom?" Rory squeaks and inwardly chides herself for sounding so juvenile.

"Rory? Sorry, I didn't realize. I, uh, didn't check the caller ID before I picked up."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry, I was just… surprised, that's all."

"Oh."

After a pause, Lorelai asks, "How are things?"

"Things are good. I mean, Grandma and Grandpa are great. They're letting me stay in the pool house, which… I guess you knew already," she adds hastily, remembering the pained look on her mother's face as she had watched Rory through the window that night. "You?"

"Yeah, things are good here, too. Busy, but good."

"Oh. Well, that's… good."

"Yeah. Um, did you call for a reason? Not that I didn't want you to call," Lorelai adds, "but I wasn't expecting it."

"Oh, no. I just… wanted to say hi."

"Oh, okay."

Is that disappointment she detects in her mother's voice? Does Lorelai want something else? Maybe she wants the same thing Rory wants… maybe she misses her, maybe she wants her daughter to come home, after all. "Mom?"

"Yeah?"

Rory pauses, biting her lip. "I, um, I was wondering if maybe – I mean, it's been a week and I was just wondering…" Rory pauses, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes. "Can I come home?"

The phone line goes silent for an excruciating long minute, as Rory's heart pounds loudly in her ears. "Are you going back to Yale?"

Rory frowns, but confidently states, "No."

She can hear her mother suck in a deep breath, before promptly exhaling against the phone. "Then no, Rory, you can't come home."

"But… I don't understand!" She pauses, fighting back the angry tears that threaten to spill. How could she say no? How could she _possibly_ say no? "I'm your _daughter_!"

"I know and I love you, Rory. But you can't come back if you aren't gonna to live by my rules. Okay, I understand that I can't pull out my mom card like I did with Chilton and force you to go; it just doesn't work that way anymore. You're grown up now and, if you're going to making decisions on your own, then you have to see them through. Sometimes," she adds sadly, "without me."

"I can't believe this! Look, I'm not asking that you approve, I'm just asking that I can come back to my own house!"

"But it's not your house, Rory."

"But… what happened to us being a democracy and, you know, 'what's yours is mine, unless it's underwear'?"

"Then I guess I've misled you."

"I can't believe this," Rory breathes. "I can't believe _you!_"

"Rory –"

"You know what?" Rory asks, unable to restrain the tears from falling any longer. "I have to go."

"Look, why don't we get together, okay? We can talk about this in person and maybe –"

"NO!" Rory screams, losing all restraint as she falls apart in a way she has rarely experienced before. That relationship – that perfect, beautiful, enviable relationship between the two of them is gone, and, in its place is just some cheap imitation; two people, almost strangers, pretending to be something more. Why hadn't she noticed it before? "I thought I knew you; I guess I was wrong."

Lorelai inhales sharply at this, but responds evenly, "I guess so."

"Aren't you even going to cry?" Rory demands, angry that she's more upset about their lost relationship than her mother. "Aren't you even going to shed a tear over this?"

"What good would it do?"

"I don't even know you anymore. Whoever this 'new' mother is, well, I really, really _hate_ her."

"Rory…" she begins in a pained tone. It's the crack in her voice that finally gives Rory some satisfaction, shows that maybe she's hurt her mother as much as Lorelai had hurt her.

Rory hangs up.

However, the silence only hurts more. She hears the pained tone of her mother's voice, washing away any remnants of her previous satisfaction. In the past, Rory has only wanted to protect her mother, not cause her pain. But that hate, painfully familiar, the same she had felt last year, when Lorelai had expressed her disapproval of her relationship with Dean, has bubbled to the surface again. She isn't going to let Lorelai's standards ruin her own vision of life – despite the fact that she hasn't quite decided what that vision entails yet.

Rory swipes at the tears on her cheeks, hastily drying them with the back of her hand, as she stumbles into the living room. She isn't sure what she wants – coffee, a book, perhaps – but stops dead in her tracks when she sees her grandmother sitting casually on the couch. Rory hastily pushes away her sadness, wondering but afraid to ask how much of the phone conversation her grandmother has overheard.

"Rory!" she greets. "I was just here to collect your laundry."

"Oh, uh, doesn't Sarah usually do that?"

"No, we had to let Sarah go," she states dismissively, "and we're in between maids at the moment, unfortunately."

"It's okay, Grandma. I can do my own…"

"Nonsense! The agency is sending someone over tomorrow, so I thought I'd just gather everything in one place for her. It's hard to find good help these days and, well, I might as well make sure they do their job correctly, right?"

"Right. Well, uh, let me just get those clothes for you then…"

"Wonderful."

Rory nods and takes a deep breath, before turning away. "Oh!" Rory states suddenly, facing her grandmother again. "I'm sorry, how rude of me, Grandma. Would you like something to eat or drink? I actually don't have much, besides for a can of Pringles and coffee, but…"

"Coffee sounds excellent, thank you."

Rory nods. "Two coffees, coming right up."

"While you're doing that, why don't I get your laundry?"

"Oh, that's not necessary."

"No, I insist. Kill two birds with one stone, right?"

Knowing that she isn't going to win this battle, Rory reluctantly nods in agreement. "The laundry basket is on the floor in the bedroom… next to the door."

"Okay," she replies cheerfully, "I'll be right back!"

When Emily enters the bedroom, she pauses to scan its contents. She notices the laundry basket right away, but ignores it. The room is fairly empty, aside from a lone cardboard box sitting beside the foot of the bed, She approaches box slowly and turns it so that she can read its markings. "Newspaper stuff," Emily whispers to herself. She drags her fingers along the sides, wondering just how far she can go before she's intruding upon her granddaughter's privacy. _Sometimes,_ she reminds herself, _Privacy is meant to be broken._ If it will help bring her closer to helping Rory, she promises herself, it's necessary.

So, Emily opens the box and studies the contents: the Yale merchandise, the many issues of school newspapers, the clippings of articles by Rory's most beloved journalists…

"Grandma?" she hears Rory call from the other room. "Did you find it?"

"Oh, yes," she replies. "Just found it!"

Emily hastily closes the box and grabs the laundry basket from its spot on the floor, before giving Rory's room one last look-over. All she knows now is that Rory had given up on her dream, and, from what she had recently overheard from Rory's phone conversation with Lorelai, her daughter had given up on Rory's dream, as well; or, at least, given up on forcing Rory to follow her former ambitions. That leaves Emily as the last person to believe in the strength of Rory's dreams, to salvage what is left of their power. It's a heavy burden to carry upon her shoulders alone, but Emily has never cowered away from challenges before.

When Emily returns to the living room with the laundry basket, Rory brings over to cups of coffee and places them on the coffee table.

"Can I at least take the basket to the house for you?"

"No thank you. You know… a little exercise never hurt anyone," Emily replies with a wink.

"Okay, if you're sure…"

"I am."

"Okay.

Rory pauses nervously. "I'm fine."

Emily nods. "Well, remember, if you want to talk about _anything_, I'm here…"

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Not a problem. That's what grandmothers are for, after all." Emily sits down and sips her coffee as she looks around the room casually. "Have you been had a guest over?" Emily asks, gestuting to the pillow and blanket that Rory has folded neatly in a pile on the couch.

"Oh, no. I just sometimes fall asleep on the couch… you know, I get book and… I don't mean to."

"I know how that is," Emily replies with a chuckle. "Your grandfather is the same way. Speaking of which… I hear you're doing well at your grandfather's work."

Rory shrugs. "He's been an amazing help."

"You know, since you've begun working for him, he's come home every night and raved about how wonderful it is to have his granddaughter with him all day."

"Has he?" she asks, blushing slightly.

"Oh, yes. It gets lonely in the office sometimes…"

"Yeah, I could tell."

"He says you have quite a talent for the insurance business…"

"I don't know about that."

"Don't be so modest!" Emily enthuses, squeezing Rory's free hand. "Have you thought of going into insurance after college?"

"A little."

"And what do you think?"

Rory laughs. "I don't know yet. I mean, I just started…"

"Of course. Forgive me for being so pushy."

"You're not."

"But you have? Been thinking about it, that is?"

"Yeah," she replies casually.

"Interesting. Now, what happened to journalism?"

"Oh, well – uh – it just… didn't work out."

"That's a shame. You've written some of the best articles I've read in _years_. Well, it's getting late; I should get going," Emily finishes, grabbing the laundry basket and standing. "Good night. I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow morning."

**XIV.**  
After Lorelai's conversation with Rory abruptly came to an end, she hung up the phone and stared into space. She half-noticed each time Luke threw a concerned look in her direction, but was too shocked about the whole ordeal to speak. However, now, Luke has finished his nightly closing rituals and forces her attention upon him by sitting across from her.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Lorelai nods, looking down at her hands as she speaks. "I told her she couldn't come home; I told my own daughter to stay away from me," she wails. "I had to do it, though, you know? I mean, if she really is trying to find herself and what I think is her isn't… her, then she can't be around me. We'll fight or… or… I'll influence her again. I'll make her believe that what I want for her is what she wants, when it really isn't. I can't do that. I have to – I need to…" Lorelai pauses to gather her thoughts. "I'll stay away until she finds herself."

"You don't have to totally stay away."

"No, I do; I really do. If I see her, I'll tell her what I think, which is that she's throwing her life away. She's throwing her life away with Logan, with her 'time off', with her search for _anything_ but her original dream."

"Then you're doing what's best for her."

Lorelai nods sadly. "I just… wish she could see that."

"She will… eventually." Lorelai looks up at Luke, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I have faith in her; I have faith in _you_." Lorelai smiles slightly and Luke reaches across the table and grasps her hand. "Personally, I still think we should kidnap her and force her to go to classes, but I'm thinkin' that isn't the best remedy."

"No," she replies with a laugh. "But thanks for the thought."

"Any time. Wanna call it a night?"

Lorelai nods gratefully. "Best suggestion I've heard all day."

Luke rolls his eyes and helps her out of her chair, immediately wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walk toward the stairs. Lorelai leans into his loose embrace, silently reveling in the comfort that his touch brings. She's suddenly overcome by relief that he's there with her, holding her, keeping her from falling apart. Although the thought is scary and completely unlike her, she is sure she would not have gotten this far without him.

_TBC..._

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**A/N:** _Bear with me folks - I promise we're getting somewhere. Credit for the line about Jackson having to live in the doghouse goes to my mother. She constantly says that to my dad, and it's one of the only times I ever laugh at her jokes, heh. Plus, I wrote this particular chapter on their 27th wedding anniversary; I thought it would be a nice tribute.  
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	6. Chapter Six

**Inching Closer**

_Chapter Six_

**A/N: **_I have a million excuses for not updating sooner, including no power, which means no internet and, of course, the all-time favorite 'I had a breakdown after my car broke down.' So please forgive and be patient while I get all my personal problems sorted. Thank you. Shout out to **Danielle** for the beta!_

**_oywidapoodles_**_: I know what episode you're talking about. In fact, I wrote that part of the chapter with said particular episode in mind. Lorelai asks specifically if Sookie can imagine her **with **a dog; she doesn't say "I hate dogs," or anything of the sort, so I think you misunderstood my intension. I truly appreciate the thoroughness of your argument, though. It's arguments like this that put the 'constructive' back into 'constructive criticism'. :)_

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**XV.**  
After spending the bulk of the morning planning the next D.A.R. function, Emily is relieved to find a moment of peace. She sits down carefully on the couch, crosses her legs, and opens her book to the marked page. Just as she leans forward to grasp the coffee cup that the maid has left for her on the coffee table, she hears the doorbell ring. Sighing in defeat, Emily places the book on the table in front of her, but still manages to sip her coffee as she waits for the unexpected guest to be ushered into the living room.

She certainly had not expected Lorelai to walk into the room.

Emily hastily covers her shock with a suspicious frown, standing without straying from the couch. For a moment, nothing happens; Lorelai also seems rooted to her spot in the foyer.

"You can come in, you know," Emily finally manages, placing her coffee cup down carefully before settling her hands on her hips. She watches as Lorelai ignores her previous statement and scans the room thoroughly without moving an inch. "She's at work with your father," Emily states suddenly, startling Lorelai.

"Oh," is all she can manage.

"She's working as his secretary for a few weeks. Margie's on vacation now."

"That's… nice."

Emily represses a disbelieving snort. Her daughter is _so_ easy to read sometimes. It's obvious she disapproves of Rory's choice of jobs. Emily purposely ignores the fact that she's not sure where she stands on the matter, herself. On the one hand, it is good that Rory is working, instead of wasting her time away; yet, similarly, perhaps this secretarial work in Richard's business is just as much of a time-waster. It isn't what Rory is meant to do with her life – Emily has accepted it, Lorelai certainly knows it, and even Richard is aware of this fact, although he seems to be doing quite well at ignoring it. He likes having Rory at work with him. In fact, he even comes home _smiling_, for crying out loud! Emily cannot remember the last time Richard has smiled about something work related, bar, of course, the often sarcastic grin accompanying a particularly successful business deal.

"So, did you drop by just to stand here and stare at me, or do you actually have a reason for being here?"

Emily notices a flash of pain in her daughter's eyes and immediately regrets her cold tone. However, she cannot quite bring herself to retract her statement, and instead meets Lorelai's now determined gaze.

"I was just… passing by, and I thought I'd let you know that I've decided to go to Rory's trial."

"Good." She states simply. "Would you like some coffee?"

"No thank you. So… when is it?"

Emily sits down on one of the armchairs and folds her hands on her lap. She waits for Lorelai to do the same, but Lorelai still remains fixed to her spot. "You know, when you drop by one's home unexpectedly and turn down an offer for coffee, you come off as rude, Lorelai…"

Lorelai mumbles unintelligibly under her breath and finally joins her mother in the living room, flopping down on the couch and flinging her purse aside. "Fine, I'll have some coffee."

"Lovely. Abigail," Emily calls, and, after a moment, a frazzled maid appears in the doorway. "Please bring my daughter a cup of coffee."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Lorelai and Emily sit in silence as they wait for the coffee. Emily watches her daughter expectantly, but Lorelai is determined to look at anything, aside from her mother's face.

"So, you were just passing by, you say?"

"Yeah," Lorelai replies as she fidgets with her purse. "I was in the neighborhood, you know."

"Huh. So, your dropping by has nothing to do with seeing Rory."

Lorelai pauses for a moment, a fatal action. "No."

"Uh-huh."

"What?" she asks, quickly implementing her shield. "You don't believe me?"

"Well, it just seems odd that you dropped by, especially considering the fact that you seem to be angry with your father and me. Usually, when you're in one of your moods, you stay as far away as possible from this place."

"I do that even when I'm not angry," she mutters.

"Yes, I suppose you do."

Abigail brings the coffee out and hands it to Lorelai before quickly retreating from the room. Lorelai takes a grateful sip and unsuccessfully hides her grimace as the hot liquid burns her tongue. Emily shakes her head and takes a sip of her own, now cool, coffee.

"Look, I came here to find out the date of Rory's trial. Now, you said the deal was that, if I decided I wanted to go, you'd tell me the date."

"Yes."

"And…?"

"What do you think of the coffee?" Emily asks, ignoring her daughter's question. "It's hazelnut. Personally, I prefer plain coffee to these strange flavors, but your father received a tacky gift basket with more flavors of coffee than I even knew existed. Perhaps, you'd like some? Rory really likes them, and, considering your coffee addiction, it seems right up your ally."

She sighs. "No thank you, Mother. Will you _please_ just –"

"Oh, that's right! Silly me," she says with a shake of her head. "Luke makes your coffee, doesn't he?"

"Mom…" Lorelai says warningly.

"What? It's an innocent question."

"_Nothing_ is innocent with you."

"I was just trying to find a way to introduce the topic of Luke to our discussion."

"There _is_ no discussion here, Mom! I just need to know the date of Rory's trial, that's all!"

"Why? So you can leave again?"

"Well, I don't live here."

"No, you don't. But if you leave, you won't come back for a long time."

Lorelai shrugs. "You don't give me reason to."

"No!" Emily yells, jumping to her feet. "You're just always looking for a reason to get away from here, aren't you?"

"Mom –"

"Rory isn't even enough to keep you here anymore!" She pauses and takes a deep breath. "What do you want from me, Lorelai? Would you like an apology? Because, honestly, I don't know what happened with Rory or why she decided, all of the sudden, that she didn't want to be a journalist anymore… I just did what I thought was right for her."

"What about what was right for me?"

"What's right for Rory is right for you."

"Then maybe this isn't right for Rory," she shoots back angrily. "All I want from you is the god damn date of Rory's trial, okay? That's _all_!"

Emily sits down again and takes a deep, calming breath. "It's tomorrow."

Lorelai pales. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow. If you hadn't waited so long to make up your mind, I would've given you more notice…"

"Tomorrow," she repeats. "That's fine. I'll see you there, I guess."

"I guess you will. Be sure to wear something appropriate. Your attire will have an effect on the decision, you know. Nothing with sparkles," she adds darkly.

Lorelai gathers her belongings and rises, ignoring her mother's advice. "Thanks for the coffee," she says flatly.

Emily watches as Lorelai heads for the door, frozen in her place. After a moment, her tense body thaws and she rises, catching up with Lorelai just as she's about to open the front door. Lorelai stops and turns around, glaring harshly at her mother. "What?"

She stares at her daughter, watches as the anger and hurt intensify with each labored breath, and has to fight to keep herself from trembling. There's so much she wishes to say, to ask, to share with her estranged daughter. She wants to admit that she's worried about Rory, that she's clueless as to how to make the girl see her potential. But, more than anything else, she wants to beg her daughter not to leave, because, for the first time since Lorelai approached them, asking for a loan for Rory's schooling, Emily isn't sure her daughter will ever return.

Instead, in an even voice, she promises, "Rory will be fine. I'll make sure of it."

Lorelai furrows her brow, watching her mother suspiciously, before finally nodding. With that, she walks out the door, leaving a gust of hot summer air in her wake.

**XVI.**  
As Rory makes her way to the pool house, her cell phone begins to ring. She sighs and opens the door, not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. Her mind has been racing all day, and no matter how much she struggles to gain control, she cannot help but fret over her impending trial. The entire situation – the theft and now the trial – is a huge inconsistency in Rory's life, a patch of black against an otherwise colorful quilt of existence. Of course, since it is a pattern she's trying to break free of, maybe the trial is a good thing, a dark, albeit different start to a new life.

Feeling no more confident, but wonderfully justified, nonetheless, Rory answers her cell phone just before it transfers to her voicemail.

"Hey, Ace."

"Logan," she says with a smile. "What's up?"

"Oh, not much. I was just standing in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear for our date tomorrow, and I thought I'd call you."

"Our date?" Rory laughs. "Hardly romantic."

"Ah, well… we all have to make sacrifices. So, how's the insurance biz going?"

"Oh, it's booming."

"You're just lucky people are stupid."

"Like us?"

"Well, we _did_ steal a boat," he agrees.

"I think we're supposed to show remorse for our actions tomorrow…"

"Yeah, sad, very sad. A prissy old rich guy didn't have his Yacht for a whole two hours. What a shame that must be," says Logan sarcastically.

"Right," Rory replies, forcing back her immediate desire to ask just how Logan was different from said prissy old rich guy. _He's Logan,_ she reminds herself. _He's sweet and just… different._

Momentarily lost in her thoughts, she hadn't realized that Logan had said something until after the fact, as he waited for her to respond. "What?" she asks dumbly.

"I said: are you nervous?"

"No," Rory lies easily. "Are you?"

"Nah. Between my dad and your grandfather? We've got this thing in the bag."

"Good," she replies, not truly meaning it. In fact, she starts to feel vaguely ill at the prospect of getting off with just a slap on the wrist. She _stole_; she should be reprimanded. She remembers when she was younger and turned in a copy of _The Iliad_ late to the library. She had punished herself for a week, despite the fact that she paid the ten-cent fine. Could she do that in this case; punish herself to feel better? _I don't think it works that way,_ she scolds inwardly.

"So, what do you think? Gray or black?"

"Huh?"

"My suit…"

"Oh, uh… I don't know."

"You're a girl; aren't you supposed to know these things?" Rory frowns. "Just kidding," he adds hastily. "That was a joke."

"Uh-huh," she replies flatly. She's about to defend herself further, arguing that, although she does like shopping and has a fairly good clothing sense, her life does not, by any means, revolve around it. Besides, she's never dressed a man before. However, before she can formulate her argument into words, a knock on the glass door of the pool house startles her. "Hey, Logan, I gotta go; my grandmother's here. See you tomorrow, don't be late!"

"What's tomorrow again?"

"Bye Logan," she responds forcefully before flipping her phone closed. She heads toward the door and pulls it open for her grandmother, who immediately flashes Rory a smile and heads inside.

"So, I was thinking…" Emily begins upon entering. "How would you like to go shopping?"

"Oh, Grandma, that'd be great, but… I don't know…"

"Nonsense! What are you wearing tomorrow?"

Rory shrugs. "I don't know, I thought maybe a black skirt and –"

Emily frowns as she studies Rory for a few moments. "You know what you need? A suit!"

"A suit?" Rory replies dubiously. "Well, I have one somewhere… I wore it for my first day of my, uh… internship."

The last word is harder to say than Rory thought it would be and Emily eyes her questioningly for a few moments before shaking her head. "You need a _new_ suit, Rory. After all, your appearance is a big factor in the decision."

"It is?" Rory squeaks, suddenly more anxious than before.

"Don't worry, you'll knock them away in there! Now come on, let's head out before dinner, shall we?"

Rory stares blankly at Emily for a few moments before shrugging, remembering the ever-present tenseness between her grandmother and mother, and, therefore, knowing just how far her grandmother's stubbornness can stretch. "Okay."

"Lovely!" she enthuses, grabbing Rory by the hand and practically dragging her out the door. "Come along."

_This ought to be interesting,_ Rory thinks, picturing just how horrified her mother would be, if she knew about this.

The thought makes her smile.

**XVII.**  
Emily and Rory make their way to the dressing area, followed by two saleswomen who both hang their armful of clothing on a rack before leaving. Rory sits down looking meek among the throngs of expensive furniture and clothing. Emily, on the other hand, begins to sift through the clothes with ease, finally pulling out a cream colored suit from the pack.

"Stand up," she demands, and Rory does so with a frown on her face. "In front of the mirror." Rory does as she's told and Emily comes up from behind, reaching her hands around so that the suit dangles in front of Rory's body. "Mmm, no. It's too light; blends in with your skin."

"Yeah, that, uh, happens a lot," Rory says apologetically.

"Well, that's all right. We've got every color imaginable with us."

Emily begins to rifle through the rack of suits again and Rory turns toward her, biting her lip as she stares. "Grandma, I really appreciate this, but I can't buy a new suit."

"Why not?"

"Well, I can't afford it."

"Nonsense, I'll –"

"No, Grandma. You've done so much for me already. You always have," she adds quietly, almost shamefully, remembering how they've already paid for schooling and a car for Rory.

"This isn't about that. I _want_ to do this for you, for my granddaughter. Something your mother would never let me do," she adds under her breath.

"But –"

"I'm not taking no for an answer, young lady."

She pauses and searches Emily's eyes. "Okay," she finally concedes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, face the mirror again."

After choosing an array of suits from the rack, Emily nudges Rory toward the dressing room stall. "I'll be right out here," she calls to Rory. "When you're finished trying on an outfit, come out here and show me, no matter how ridiculous you think it looks, okay?"

"Okay."

Emily wanders back over to the rack of suits and sifts through them absently. She listens as Rory rustles around inside of the cubicle and, after a moment's hesitation, she moves closer to the dressing room's door. "Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"I, uh, spoke to your mother today."

There is a sudden pause in the rustling. "Oh."

"She came over," Emily continues. "She wanted to see you. Well, she didn't come outright and say that, but I know she did. I could tell."

"Oh. Shame I missed her." She isn't sure whether she believes her statement or not.

"She says she's going to your trial tomorrow."

"Good." _So she can find even more reason to be ashamed of me._

Without warning, Rory opens the dressing room door with more force than intended. She then stands in front of her grandmother in the plumb-colored suit and allows Emily to study her for a minute. Her eyes narrow and her brow furrows as she grabs hold of the suit jacket and pulls it down slightly. "No," she finally decides. "It doesn't lay right and the color doesn't really do anything for you. Try the dark blue next, okay?"

"Yeah… okay."

After Rory goes back into the dressing room and the rustling begins again, Emily fidgets with her purse as she, once again, approaches the dressing room door. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes her mouth quickly, losing her nerve. Deciding on another tactic, Emily attempts, "Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think of your grandfather's business?"

"Uh… it's great," she answers, confusion obvious in her tone. "Why?"

"Well, I was just… the thing is… I'm afraid your grandfather might push it on you a bit more than he probably should."

"It's okay."

"No," she declares, "it's not. You're trying to find yourself now, aren't you?"

"Yes, but –"

"Then you have to find yourself… alone. You need support, of course, but, ultimately, it must be _your_ decision. If your grandfather guilts you into it, it's not your own decision."

Rory opens the dressing room door and faces her grandmother. "I'll be okay."

Emily nods, not trusting her voice, and not quite believing Rory's promise, either. But what could she do, aside from telling Rory the truth about her own life, which is something she doesn't want to do. _It's in the past_, she convinces herself. _This is a completely different situation._ Instead, Emily takes a long look at Rory and then smiles broadly. "We have ourselves a winner."

"Dark blue it is," Rory replies, matching her grandmother's smile for the first time since she came to live with them.

**XVIII.**  
Lorelai kicks her shoes off as soon as she enters her house, ignorant as to where they end up. In her stocking feet, she drags herself to the kitchen and immediately starts the coffee maker. Normally, she would head to Luke's at this time, but, between the mystery of the missing bed sheets and the whiney Douglass guests at the inn, and then, worst of all, the short, albeit painful visit with her mother, she is just far too exhausted to do so. So, once her coffee finishes, she heads upstairs with the steaming mug firmly planted in her hand. She takes a few sips as she surveys the mess that is her closet, wondering just what was appropriate attire for the mother of the defendant. She places her coffee down on the dresser and then heads over to the closet, sifting through her endless supply of clothing. She pauses contemplatively at a rhinestone diva shirt and then pushes it aside just as quickly, knowing that, although it would successfully push her mother toward new heights of shame, it just isn't appropriate. She is doing this for Rory, after all, and, even if the two of them are not on speaking terms, they're still mother and daughter. She finally settles on a black pants suit and tugs it off the hanger, before throwing over the armchair. She then strips, tossing her dirty clothes in a heap on the floor, too tired to care that the skirt will wrinkle, and throws on an old Bangles tee-shirt and a pair of shorts before heading back over to her dresser to pick up her coffee cup.

However, when she gets there, she immediately becomes distracted when she notices the black velvet box sitting, untouched, beside her jewelry box. A half-smile crosses her features as she lifts the box and opens it. The engagement ring is so beautiful, and she momentarily wonders how it is that Luke was able to pick out such a stunning ring. After all, he's never shown any sort of fashion sense before - especially considering his daily dose of flannel and the fact that the only jewelry he had given her before had been made and selected by his sister. She makes a mental note to tease him about this one day, in the future, when their engagement isn't a secret; when it isn't somewhat of a silent, although obvious sore spot between the couple.

But she hasn't actually worn the ring yet. She wants to – she really, _really_ wants to put it on, even just for a moment. And really, she convinces herself, she should try it on. After all, what if it doesn't fit? It would be tragic if, when they actually do want the world to know about their engagement, it didn't fit and _then_ they'd have to worry about re-fitting the ring. What's an engagement announcement with a ring to show off? Satisfied with this argument, Lorelai slips the ring onto her finger. It fits. She grins and looks down at her hand, mesmerized by the way the diamond glimmers beneath the lights. She imagines the way the proposal should have gone – how, if it wasn't this huge secret, Luke would have kissed her hand before slipping the ring on, and then entwined their fingers. The two would have looked down at their joined hands and grinned, before looking up at each other and simultaneously leaning forward for a sweet kiss. And then she imagines the way the kiss would have heated up and how Luke would have dragged his lips from hers, flushed and panting, in order to lead her to his bed, his tender eyes never leaving hers.

Lorelai becomes so tied up in this daydream that she doesn't even hear the footsteps, doesn't realize that there's anyone else in her bedroom until she hears a masculine cough. She jumps, immediately facing Luke with shock-filled eyes. She lifts a hand to her chest, panting, and glares reproachfully as he approaches. He grins at her, but then pauses, mid-step, when he notices the ring on her finger. She follows his eyes and, after a moment, blushes profusely.

"I, uh… was just… trying it on," she states lamely.

Luke nods, the playful glint returning to his eyes. He finally reaches her, taking her hand in his and studying it. "Looks good."

"Well, my fiancé has good taste."

"Yeah…"

Luke's other hand drifts over to hers and he gently brushes a finger over the ring, and then around the ring, brushing delicately against her skin. She shivers and bites her lip before smiling up at him and leaning in for a soft kiss. When they break apart, Luke drops her hand and gives her a serious look instead.

"You should take off the ring."

She nods, disappointed, and immediately feels silly for being disappointed, in the first place. After all, it was her original idea not to wear it. So, she slips the ring off her finger and carefully replaces it in its box before heading over to her bed and lying down. She reaches out for Luke and, after a moment, he undoes his flannel, kicks off his shoes and jeans, and joins her.

"So… to what do I owe this surprise visit?"

"Well, you didn't show up to the diner, so I figured I'd come over and… I don't know…"

"Say hi?" she asks with a grin.

"Yeah. Say hi."

She turns on her side and faces Luke, who is still lying on his back. "Well, hi," she whispers, kissing his cheek.

"Hi," he replies in his usual rough manner. Yet, his hands suggest a completely different tone as they find their way under her shirt and brush against the soft skin of her stomach.

She sighs and leans in closer to him to lay her head on his chest. "I'm really tired," she admits. Luke stops moving his fingers. "No, don't stop. Feels good," she says sleepily.

Luke continues his exploration of her skin as Lorelai shuts her eyes and begins to drift off. After a minute, however, Luke's hands still and he whispers her name in her ear.

"Hmm?"

"Did you talk to your mom?"

"Yeah," she replies groggily. "Went over."

"You went over?" he asks loudly. "You never said you were going to…"

"I know, but –" she attempts to shrug her shoulders, but it doesn't quite work in her position on the bed – "I hate talking to my mom over the phone. It's easier to hold my own against her in person. It just kind of happened." It wasn't because she wanted to see Rory, as her mother suggested. Really, that was the last thing on her mind. Well, not the last, but it wasn't the reason. Her mother wasn't right, despite the fact that she was so damn sure of herself the entire time. "I don't even know if I'm gonna go. Haven't decided yet. Told Emily I was though, so that she'd actually give me the new date. You'd think I'd know all her tricks by now," Lorelai adds under her breath.

"Oh. So, when is it?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?" Luke demands. "Was she planning on _ever_ telling you?"

"Luke, please," she states, opening her eyes. "It's my mother."

"Right." He pauses. "You want me to come with?"

"Nah, I'll be okay, if I go. Just… need sleep…"

Luke nods. "Right." He places a quick kiss on Lorelai's forehead before reaching over to turn out the light on her nightstand. "Goodnight," he whispers, but she's already asleep.

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter Seven

**Inching Closer**  
_Chapter Seven_

**A/N:** _Thanks to my beta and my better half, **Yen**. Edited on 7/13 for inconsistencies._

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**XIX.**  
Rory had been sitting in the empty courtroom for close to an hour before it began to fill up, watching blankly as unconcerned people filtered in and out of the room, paying Rory no heed. To them, she is just a random girl who committed a random crime and would randomly be sentenced, depending on the severity of the judge's orders. To them, this is just another day, and, tonight, they will go home to their families and, over dinner, they will bemoan the random crimes that random people have committed. Life will go on for them, unchanged. But to Rory, it's different. Today is both a means to an end and the beginning of something completely different. Last night, she had made the decision to really sink her teeth into new opportunities, to see change as a necessity. This trial, the prospect of the impending moment of truth, has only intensified her need to be someone new. To never be this person again.

She pays little mind to the people surrounding her, as the trial looms nearer. She feels her grandfather's reassuring hand on her shoulder, sees Logan's reassuring smile flash in her direction, but shields herself from the comfort these actions provide. Instead, she focuses on the man in the plaintiff's chair as he nods to his lawyer. He doesn't look like he's "just some rich guy", as Logan had said before. He looks nice; he didn't deserve this. Her stomach churns when she sees him turn around and wave to his family – his wife and two small children – and she allows herself to feel guilt, relishes as it washes over her burning flesh in waves. Finally, she's feeling something real and not just fragments of displaced emotion tinged with a juvenile longing. Perhaps, she muses, this is the first situation that seems real to her; the first thing that she understands. She did something wrong, she's getting punished; that's how it works, how it always works, how it always will work. That realization brings her more comfort than a thousand smiles ever could.

After the trial begins, she keeps her eyes focused on the front of the room. If her mother's there, she refuses to let herself know it.

**XX.**  
Lorelai's late when she finally makes her way through the corridor. This morning, she had woken up early, dressed in record time, left Stars Hollow with a steaming cup of Luke's coffee in hand, and had made it halfway to the courthouse in Hartford before the panic had caught up with her. It had taken her half an hour to even get out of the Jeep. Currently, a repeat performance seems to be in progress because, no matter how much she wills her hand to reach out and grasp the cold door handle, it seems much happier to remain glued to her side.

She sighs and falls into a chair beside the door. Leaning her head back against the wall, she can feel slight vibrations coming from the voices on the other side of the wall, although she's unable to make out any of the words. She exhales again and momentarily shuts her eyes, trying, as she has been all morning, to convince herself that there is nothing to fear. _This isn't your trial,_ she reminds herself, but it might as well be. She feels like, today, not only are Rory's actions being judged, but Lorelai's twenty years of parenting are being arbitrated, as well. Although, in the past, she knew that she wasn't a perfect mother, she thought she was a pretty good one. People still tell her this; the only thing that has changed is, now, she's not so sure she believes them.

It truly is a shame to come so far just to chicken out, but with each passing moment, the courtroom door seems to drift farther and farther out of her reach. _Maybe I shouldn't even go,_ she realizes. After all, would Rory really want her to be there? She remembers the last conversation and doubts it; it had not exactly ended on the best of terms. Besides, Rory has her grandparents now, both of whom have been surprisingly more supportive than she. The thought makes her throat ache as tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She shuts her eyes again, tightly contorting her features as she keeps the unwanted tears at bay. The only purpose tears will serve in this situation is to ruin her make-up, and that's the last thing she needs right now.

A cough coming from somewhere in front of her forces her eyes open, breaking her from her thoughts. She breathes heavily as she stares disbelievingly at the suit-and-tie-clad Luke standing in front of her. When did he get here? Why didn't she hear his shoes echoing as he came down the corridor? She tries to seem composed, but as soon as she stands, she feels as if her knees are going to give out. She leans heavily against the bleak wall, but crosses her arms and glares at Luke to keep up the pretence, as well.

"What are you doing here?" she finally manages, shocked that she has even found her voice at all.

"I could ask you the same question. You're not inside."

"No." He nods and prompts her with a sharp look. "I… tried. Got a little, well…"

"Scared?" She acts to protest, but he doesn't allow it. "It's okay; you can say it."

She shakes her head slightly. "Worried."

"Oh." Lorelai frowns; he sounds almost disappointed by her admission. "Whatever happens is gonna happen whether you're in there or not, you know. You might as well go in and keep yourself informed."

"I'm not worried about that. It's her. I mean…" Lorelai looks down at her shoes. "I don't think she wants me there."

"When has that stopped you before?" he asks pointedly.

Lorelai manages a half-smile in Luke's direction before looking away again. "If I go in there, I'll have to see Rory. And if I see Rory, it'll just make everything that happened… real, I guess."

She breathes deeply and licks her suddenly dry lips before finally looking up again. She sees the familiar confusion – a look he has mostly reserved for her – but this time, it's different. His face is soft and worried, lacking the usual exasperation that accompanies it. His concern fills her until she can hardly breath and something deep inside of her breaks down – a wall she hasn't even realized she has put up against her problems with Rory – and, before she has to register her actions, she's nestled tightly in Luke's strong embrace. She breathes him in as her mind catches up with her body, and she forces away all fears of being "that girl" – the one who needs her man to keep her grounded because, right now, she _is_ that girl and she cannot for the life of her remember what is so bad about that.

"You'll have to face reality sometime," he mumbles into her hair. "It might as well be now…"

"I know and it will happen… eventually. Not now, not like this, not with everyone… watching. I'm not sure I could handle that. I guess I deserve this, though. I mean, you heard" – she sighs – "what I said to her."

She can feel Luke nod against her and she knows he wants to pull away, to gaze into her eyes, but she only clasps her arms tighter around his midsection instead. She's not ready for that particular truth, to have Luke stare into her eyes until he reads every last emotion behind them, even the ones that she's too afraid to interpret herself. Besides, she loves the warmth his body provides, melded tightly against hers. She wants this feeling to last forever.

When she finally does pull away, she's able to shove her emotions beneath the surface again, but she forces on his chest instead of his eyes, nonetheless. Luke grips her shoulders and gently nudges her toward the door, but she stops short and looks up at it, finding that she's returned to her original position, unable to muster the strength to open it. Instead, she shrugs out of his grip and takes a few steps to the side.

"I can't."

He sighs. "You _can_, Lorelai."

"I'm not supposed to be here. Let's just go, okay? The ball was in my court and I sent it flying out of the field." She pauses and frowns. "That analogy just fell flat on its face."

"You were never one for sports," Luke points out. "Look, she might be mad, but she'll get over it. She wants you to be there."

"I'm not so sure."

Luke shakes his head, but decides on another tactic. "What about your mother? She's expecting you."

"Yeah, well… this wouldn't be the first time I've let her down," she says with a bitter laugh. Lorelai begins to walk down the corridor, fully expecting Luke to follow, but pauses and turns when she doesn't hear his heavier footsteps join her own. "Luke?"

"You can leave, but I'm going," he replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What?" She runs back to Luke and pulls his arm. He still doesn't budge. "Luuuuke, no!" she demands breathlessly.

"Hey, I wanna be there for Rory. Besides," he says in a low voice, "I know you'll want details."

She lets go of his arm with a resigned sigh. She really can't argue with his logic without seeming unfair. He wants to be there for Rory and, unlike her, he has no reason to feel unwelcome. "Fine," she mumbles.

"I'll be in the back," he tells her, "in case you want to come visit." She rolls her eyes before he disappears to the other side.

Lorelai watches as the door clicks shut and once again wills her hand to grasp the doorknob. It doesn't.

**XXI.**  
The trial is a blur of fancy words and dancing around truths. Rory skillfully filters out the excess information as her mind grapples with her heart, wanting both to forget this day ever happened and to remember the shame and pain of her mistakes forever. The longer she hears the plaintiff bring forth the accusations, stinging truths mingled with exaggerations of wild college students and disregard for authority, the easier it becomes to slip away from reality, to wait just below the surface until the words fade away.

But then it ended, and they got off with a community service sentence – a mere slap on the wrist, just as Logan had promised. Regret surfaces at the thought, but this time it is bubbling with a sort of loathing. This isn't who she is, this should have _never_ been her. She's not sure that there's a way to ensure that it will never be here again.

Her heart sinks when she finds herself surrounding by people. She can hardly hear their voices over the increasing beating of her heart in her ears and is just barely able to manage a nod when her grandfather whispers, "That could have been much worse," into her ear. Her fingers feel stiff and detached as when her lawyer shakes her hand, a proud, smug smile present on his face as if he's won some sort of battle. And he has, she figures, but it wasn't a fair fight; he shouldn't feel proud. He should feel disgusted, like she is.

Logan is now at her side and grasps her limp hand before entwining their fingers. She barely acknowledges this action, but manages to look over at Logan's parents, instead. His father seems to be intent upon looking at anyone but Rory. She's secretly appalled at the thought that he might feel _sorry_ for her; pity the fact that she doesn't have what it takes to survive in the world in which he thrives. And then, of course, there's Logan's mother, her disdainful eyes fixed sternly and unflinchingly upon them. There is no doubt in Rory's mind that Mrs. Huntzberger blames her, but she probably would have blamed Rory even if she hadn't been involved at all. The fact that it _is_ Rory's fault just makes everything worse – or is it her fault? Of course she had a say in the matter, she could have handled her sorrow in a different way, but the fact of the matter is that Logan helped her go through with it. She fixed Logan with a sideways glance; why didn't he try to discourage her more?

_No,_ she tells herself. _Don't blame anyone but yourself._ Yet, this one moment of doubt leads to another, and she cannot help but remember the way Logan's presence in her life has changed _everything_ - a relationship with Dean, friendship with Marty, closeness with her mother, the goals in her life, her very outlook on herself… _Oh, God. Did I really get drunk and cry over him on the bathroom floor while my mother held my hair up?_ The humiliation prickled at the back of her neck as a blush slowly graced her features. Logan and the whirlwind of life that accompanied him had blinded her for so long; she hadn't even stopped to notice that perhaps he was not as good for her as she had originally thought. Maybe he didn't bring about her downfall, but he definitely hadn't cushioned her fall.

She looks into his eyes and sees warmth, but there's a teasing twinkle behind it that suddenly overwhelms her. Finally, she can look at him as she had the first time she met – when he treated Marty lower than himself. She sees him for what he is – a boy. He's just a boy.

"Ace?" he tries, "you there?"

"Yep."

"What do you think about grabbing a bite to eat now that this unpleasantness is behind us? I could really go for a good steak, couldn't you?"

Rory stares blankly at him for a few moments before biting her lip and looking around the room in order to buy herself some time. She notices the way her grandfather seems to be beaming, sees her grandmother give her a comforting nod. Suddenly, the walls are closing in on her; she needs to get away. She turns back to Logan and shakes her head. "I'd really rather be alone."

With that, Rory disentangles their fingers, pushes her way through the small crowd of people, and heads out the door. She stops walking when the door clicks shut behind her and she finds herself face-to-face with her mother. For a moment, neither moves; they just stare at each other, reading expressions, searching for a clue as to how the other is feeling. Rory is frozen by emotion – she wants more than anything else to throw her arms around her mother's neck and bury her head in the comforting shoulder, to cry and cry until there's nothing left inside of her. But she can't. Lorelai finally takes a tentative step forward, snapping Rory out of her reverie. Instead, Rory takes two steps backward, shakes her head, and continues down the corridor without a second glance.

**XXII.**  
Emily watches her granddaughter as she hastily brushes past her and out the door. She watches the door as it closes, and wonders whether she should follow Rory or not. However, when she peels her eyes from the door, she notices Luke stand up and remembers that she has more time-sensitive matters to deal with. _I'll give Rory some time to think,_ she decides as she heads over to Luke and taps him on the shoulder just before he escapes. She watches as his body stiffens, and, after taking a deep breath, he slowly turns to face Emily. He fixes her with a severe look and gives a curt nod.

"Luke."

He discreetly rolls his eyes, a frustrated look crossing his features. "Emily," he breathes.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"And the diner?"

"It's fine, too."

"Ah, I see." She pauses. "You seem to have a very fine life."

"Look," he tries, "I have to get back to –"

"Where's Lorelai?"

"What?" he asks, thrown off by her abruptness.

"Where's Lorelai."

"She went to use the restroom."

"Really? That's funny; I've been looking back toward where you were sitting and I've never noticed Lorelai next to you. Perhaps she ate something that disagreed with her stomach, then?"

Luke sighs. "This is something you should discuss with Lorelai, not me."

"Well, Lorelai's not here, is she?"

"She's outside," he grumbles.

"Outside?" Emily chuckles lightly. "Did she not realize that the trial is _in here_?"

"She realized. This is just a tough time for her."

"It's a _tough time_ for all of us. Her father and I came to support Rory. She said she would be here."

"Well, some things came up. Now, if you'll excuse me…" He attempted to head out the door, but Emily follows him. Luke pauses before opening the door.

"Now, Luke, I don't understand what you're saying here. Are you telling me she was too ashamed to deal with her own daughter that she sent you in?"

"No. I volunteered."

Emily gave him a skeptical look. He really is stubborn; she just wants to get to her daughter and scold her for letting her own daughter down, for letting her own mother down. Emily had been expecting to see Lorelai again; she had been expecting another chance to coax Lorelai back into her life. "And why would you do that?" she asks coldly.

"I care about Rory," he replies simply.

She is momentarily caught off-guard by the sincere honesty she hears in his voice. Luke takes advantage of this, slipping out the door. She merely watches him leave, frozen to her spot. She frowns and the thought crosses her mind that maybe, just maybe, he cares about her daughter and granddaughter more than she thought. Maybe Lorelai had been right when she'd told Richard that Rory was hurt by the way Emily had treated Luke.

Maybe.

But she isn't ready to admit defeat this easily. He could just be another man, another name in her daughter's commitment-phobic black book. Or he could be for real. Maybe she knew this all along; maybe that's why she has feared his presence in Lorelai's life, in Lorelai's heart, for so long. He could be good for her. He could keep Lorelai away from Emily for good.

Maybe.

_TBC..._


End file.
